Paradise Lost
by A Beautiful Oblivion
Summary: Desmond's strange dreams and hallucinations are driving him crazy... so crazy he might hurt those closest to him. Can he find the answer before he goes completely mad? AU-ish, set during Brotherhood. Warning: Not for those with weak stomachs. COMPLETE.
1. I

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**Quite honestly, as of now, I have no plot whatsoever for this. I'm just going with the song lyrics. So, read and hopefully make sense of my ramblings! Oh yes, and there will be footnotes and translations at the end, so don't freak about the Italian.**

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_In life you need either inspiration or desperation.  
_**-Tony Robbins**_  
_

* * *

Cesare drew his sword. "You're surrounded and alone, Assassino. No one left to help you."

Ezio took a step back, nearly treading on the toes of a Papal guard behind him. They were all around him, at least six thick on each side. For the first time since arriving in Roma, Ezio felt helpless. His recruits' energy was spent, he was out of ammunition, and these guards would surely kill him if he even thought about drawing his sword.

Cesare laughed. "The Assassin is afraid! I can see it in your eyes, codardo**.(1)"**

"The only coward here is you," Ezio snarled. "One man against an entire army?" He spat. "Vaffanculo, traditore senza spina dorsale!**(2)"** The guards closest to him drew their swords threateningly.

"That's enough out of you!" Cesare thrust his way through the crowd of guards and came face-to-face with Ezio, pointing his sword at the Assassin's throat.

_So watch my chest heave_  
_As this last breath leaves me_

Ezio stared at Cesare, trying not to let his face betray what he was thinking. His fear threatened to boil over as his eyes flicked around for an escape route.

_Desmond, get out of there!_ A bodiless female voice echoed inside Ezio's mind. His eyes widened. _Desmond? That's what Minerva said!_

_Working on it,_ another voice, male, growled._ It's kind of hard with a hundred guards surrounding us._

"He is shocked to have been beaten so easily!" Cesare crowed, mistaking Ezio's widened eyes as a sign of surprise. Ezio snapped back to the present, back to staring death in the face. But it was kind of hard with voices distracting him.

_Ezio doesn't die for a good few years,_ the female said hastily. _You'd better think of something fast!_

Ezio was indignant at this comment._ I can handle myself fine, _he tried to shoot back at the voice._ I do not need this "Desmond" to save me!_

He was lying. Any help would be of use now, even from a bodiless ghost.

Suddenly, he had an idea. Smoke bombs! Of course! How could he have been so stupid? He quickly pulled one out of his pouch, rolling it between his fingers.

"Any last words?" Cesare grinned, pushing the tip of his sword into Ezio's flesh.

"Just something you shall remember until the day you die," Ezio replied smugly. "Vittoria agli Assassini!**(3)**" he cried, throwing the smoke bomb down.

"No!" Cesare howled as Ezio sprinted away through the crowd of coughing guards. "Guards! GUARDS! After him!" But soon, even the Borgia was doubled over, hacking.

Ezio quickly wove through alleys and streets, calling his horse as he went. It trotted alongside him until he swung up onto it, riding back over the bridge and out of the Vaticano district.

Everything froze. The horse stopped mid-gallop, guards stood with their fists up, faces frozen in a look of rage. Desmond, startled, struggled to move. With horror, he watched Rome disintegrate before him. _What? I didn't want to leave the Animus!_

He surfaced much quicker than normal, ripping himself out of the chair. "What the fu-" His words caught in his throat, only a choking sound escaped.

The Sanctuary was gone. Desmond and the Animus were alone in a large gray room with no windows and what seemed to be no doors.

"…Hello?" Desmond called, suddenly feeling very small as his voice echoed off the walls and back to him.

_I am trying to be_  
_What you're dying to see_

"Lucy? Shaun? Rebecca?" Desmond asked, more to himself; he knew no one would answer. Turning around, he noticed in horror that the Animus was gone, vanished into thin air.

"Who's there?" Desmond called, scared. A lone guard - a legit, 16th-century Roman guard - emerged, seemingly melting out of the wall. Desmond cried out, nearly tripping over himself in his shock as he noticed the guard had Ezio's face.

Another guard stumbled out of the wall, this one missing a face completely, the entire front of its skull missing, brains and blood spilling down onto the floor. Desmond scrambled backward, trying to get as far away as possible from the mutant guard, until he bumped into a wall. The guards walked slowly after him, dragging their feet.

Desmond heard a noise to his left, and turned his head in time to see two more guards come out of the wall, one with Altaïr's face, the other with... Lucy's. It still had a male guard's body, with its short brown hair and red beret, making her face look more unusual on its body.

The faceless guard turned its head toward the Lucy-guard, as if it could see her. It changed course, from Desmond to her, pulling out a sword. The Ezio and Altaïr-guards stopped and turned toward the Lucy-guard, just staring.

Desmond took a few steps backward, watching in horror as the faceless guard attacked Lucy, slicing off her face cleanly so she matched her attacker.

_I feel like "Fuck man,_  
_Can't take this, anymore"_

Desmond pressed himself further into the wall, willing himself to disappear as all four guards turned towards him. The two faceless guards took a few steps forward as the Assassin-guards walked toward each other behind their backs, then turned back to Desmond.

The original faceless guard looked down at its feet. Desmond saw something lying on the floor next to its boot - that_ definitely_ wasn't there before - which it picked up. It looked like a mask, a full-face mask. The guard put it on, then raised its head. It was Desmond's face.

Desmond clawed back into waking, gasping like a drowning man who had reached the surface. He was laying in a small cot set up in the corner of the Sanctuary, Lucy standing over him.

"Oh god Desmond!" she gasped, removing her hand gently from his shoulder. "Finally you wake up! You were screaming and thrashing around everywhere." She stepped back as he sat up and swung his legs over the edge of the bed, feeling sweat all over his body.

"It was a dream," Desmond muttered. But what parts were the dream? He hadn't remembered coming out of the Animus, or even getting into this bed. To his surprise, he felt tears running down his cheeks.

"Are you crying?" Lucy asked gently, kneeling down in front of him. She reached up and wiped a tear off one of his cheeks. "What happened..?"

Desmond shook his head. She removed her hand, but still stared into his eyes.

"Nothing. I'm fine."

"You're sure?" Lucy asked, concerned.

Desmond nodded, forcing a tight smile upon his lips. "Yeah. You should go back to work. Don't worry about me."

Lucy still didn't look convinced, but she stood up. "Okay. If you need anything, don't hesitate to ask, all right?" She turned and walked back to her computer.

_This life that's so thankless,_  
_How could he just forsake us?_

The images of the faceless guards still burned in Desmond's mind; he doubted he'd ever get to sleep. Suddenly, he had the great need to take a shower, to wash the sweat and that dream from his body and mind. But there was - obviously - no shower in the Sanctuary, and he doubted he could just go up to a house and ask to use their shower.

He'd asked Rebecca, and she told him the best they could do was a bottle of water, a small bar or soap, and a towel about the size of a napkin. So, armed with these, Desmond climbed down through the tunnel leading to outside Monteriggioni in hopes of getting some privacy. He couldn't leave the city, obviously, so he stopped where the sewer started, with no way of getting any further anyway. The doors and levers may all be open, but he couldn't get past that without help.

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**1 - coward  
2 - Fuck you, you spineless traitor!  
3 - Victory to the Assassins!**

**And there you have the first chapter. Hope the gore wasn't too bad, and I tried to keep the swearing only in Italian. Tell me what you think!**


	2. II

**Enjoy :)**

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_Sometimes I'm confused by what I think is really obvious. But what I think is really obvious obviously isn't obvious...  
_**-Michael Stipe**

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Desmond stood next to the edge, where the water lapped gently against the edge of the small crop of rock he was standing on. Setting down the water, soap, and towel, he unstrapped his blade, watch, and removed the earpiece, which he placed on his other side. Desmond undid his sweater, fingers fumbling on the small zipper. He was shaking.

Once undressed, Desmond emptied half the bottle over his body. No sense in washing his hair - there wasn't enough water. He rubbed soap all over himself, quickly; it made him feel uncomfortable standing there. He kept jumping at shadows, thinking someone was watching him.

"This way!" Desmond heard a voice and nearly jumped out of his skin. It was coming from the opposite end of the Sanctuary, from the outside. Without hesitation, he dived headfirst into the disgusting sewer water, successfully hiding himself.

Two men emerged from the tunnel. Desmond stared, his jaw agape. It was La Volpe and Machiavelli. Desmond shook his head hard, attempting to blink water out of his eyes, but when he opened them, they were still there.

"Your turn to swim," Volpe chuckled. He definitely wasn't a ghost like the others, his body was clearly defined and solid.

Niccolò rolled his eyes. "Piccino,**(1)**" he muttered, but began removing his robes, exposing his bare chest. Desmond nearly fainted.

Machiavelli's entire torso was crawling with maggots. Where the white worms weren't wriggling, rotting flesh was shown. The stench hit Desmond almost immediately, despite him being across the room and neck-deep in sewage.

Volpe didn't seem to notice anything unusual about his partner, instead watched smugly as Niccolò poised to dive. With horror, Desmond noticed all the water had turned to stone within a ten-meter radius of the man. If he jumped...

Machiavelli looked back. "You sure this is necessary?"

"Very." Volpe grinned.

Machiavelli dove, seemingly not noticing the neck-breaking hardness of the rock beneath him.

"No!" Desmond cried out involuntarily, betraying his position. As soon as the noise escaped his lips, Volpe's head whipped around, spotting Desmond instantly.

Machiavelli's neck snapped with a crack as he hit the bottom of the lake, hard. His head broke open, and the maggots changed course with glee, eager to feast on fresh brains.

"Infame! Codardo! Bugiardo!**(2)"** Volpe growled, taking no notice of his fallen partner. He took a few steps toward where Desmond floated, until he was stopped by the water.

Desmond gasped as the water was sucked up, evaporating at the ceiling, nothing stopping Volpe from attacking him. He landed hard on the soles of his feet on the dry lakebed, falling to his knees - still naked.

Volpe jumped down and walked past his fallen comrade, who was now totally consumed by the maggots. Seeing it, Desmond was completely repulsed and emptied the contents of his stomach - not much - in front of him.

Meanwhile, Volpe had withdrawn something from the folds of his shirt. The Apple, glowing harshly. He raised it in front of him, smiling triumphantly. That was when Desmond started to scream.

_Breaks us, he makes us hate us_  
_He gave us nothing but no trust_

_

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_

"What the...?" Shaun muttered, then spoke up. "Anyone else hear that?"

Lucy raised her head. "Yeah... sounds like screaming." She looked around, alarmed. "Where's Desmond?"

"He went to wash up," Rebecca said. "You don't think...?"

"Desmond!" Lucy gasped, jumping up and sprinting down the tunnel, Shaun and Rebecca on her heels.

"There!" Rebecca pointed. Desmond was treading water, screaming, his back to the group. He thrashed around, as if fighting off an unseen enemy.

"Desmond?" Rebecca called warily. He didn't answer or even acknowledge they were there, leading Lucy to rip off her jacket.

"He's in trouble! I'm going in after him." She dove, ignoring the foul smell and taste from the water, swimming strongly towards her thrashing companion.

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The water bubbled back up under Desmond's feet. It was like lava. He screamed louder and thrashed, trying to reach land.

"Desmond!" Lucy's face swam in front of him.

"Kill me now," Desmond moaned, twitching weakly. He let the boiling water drag him under, welcoming its blackness.

_And I am so fucked up_  
_So let this gun bind us_  
_And once we are just dust_  
_He'll know that he left us_

He heard snippets of voices:

"Get him back to the Sanctuary!"  
"What the hell happened?"  
"...won't...able to without..."

And then he faded out again.

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**1 - child  
2 - Sneak! Coward! Liar!**

**Okay, so obviously Desmond was hallucinating that Volpe and Machiavelli thing. They've been dead for 400 years, they're not just going to pop out of the Animus like that!**

**...right?**

**Review please :)**


	3. III

_Learned helplessness is the giving-up reaction, the quitting response that follows from the belief that whatever you do doesn't matter.  
_**-Arnold Schwarzenegger**

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The Animus?

Desmond was confused. It's where he appeared to be, but not living out the lives of any of his ancestors. He was just... stuck. In that in-between area of gray and white. He tried to remember what happened before, but nothing. All he could recall was little snippets of... a shower? Foul smells, the crack of a broken neck, and screaming...

There was an orange glow in the distance. Desmond squinted. It appeared to be getting bigger - closer? - and there was a roaring sound, a whooshing.

_Fire! _Desmond's eyes widened and he cried out, whirling around. He knew it was no use, but he sprinted away from the oncoming glow. He could feel its heat. And then it was upon him.

Desmond screamed for a good few seconds, expecting to find fire rushing down his throat, burning him from the inside out. But nothing. Tremendous heat, but no pain. He cracked open an eye - he had squeezed them shut - and stared at what he was faced with.

The fire rushed by all around him, never flicking less then three feet away. If he reached out, the flames would curve away from him, as if afraid of his touch. Confident, Desmond took a step forward. His little air bubble moved with him.

_Dessssmondddd_. Said Assassin jumped about a foot off the ground, air following him of course. He'd heard a moan, kind of like a ghost from the horror movies he used to love as a kid. The voice came from his left, slightly in front of him. Desmond followed it warily - what else was there to do? - and as soon as she came into view, he instantly regretted his decision.

It was Lucy. In the middle of the fire, screaming, screaming so loud Desmond wanted to cover his ears. She was on fire, rolling on the ground, trying to put it out, but the floor was burning too. Desmond choked, his breath catching in his throat. He ran over to try and help her, but the closer he got, the more the temperature in his sanctuary rose.

"Desmond," Lucy cried, dragging herself with hands nearly singed down to the bone. Her face was melting away, her hair long burned off. "Help me!"

"I can't," Desmond moaned, backing away as he felt himself starting to burn.

Lucy screamed again, long and loud, rolled onto her back, and was still. Her body continued to burn until the skin was blackened and shriveled.

_LET IT ALL BURN_  
_I will burn first_  
_God I've tried, am I lost in your eyes?_

"No," Desmond sobbed, dropping to his knees. "Lucy, I'm sorry. I'm _sorry_!" And, not being able to bear the sight of her, he turned and ran.

_Just let me burn, it's what I deserve_

The fire melted away. Just like that. The entire gray area jumped up into the air, taking Desmond with it. He was tossed around like a rag doll until his eyes snapped open. Back in the Sanctuary.

He moaned, thinking his dream was reality. Lucy's dead. I've killed her. Desmond shut his eyes again and raised a hand to his head.

"You're awake." Desmond bolted upright. Lucy!

"You're alive!" he gasped in response. He quickly looked her up and down. She stood next to his cot, looking very normal, no fire or burn marks.

"What...?" Lucy looked confused, but shook her head. "Never mind. Desmond, what's been _happening_ to you? We found you in the tunnels, swimming in that disgusting water, screaming your head off. Naked, no less."

Despite his situation, Desmond blushed. Turning his head away, he muttered, "I don't know. I can't remember." He looked back up at her, suddenly scared. "Am I going crazy?" he asked softly.

Lucy laid a gentle hand on his shoulder. "I sure hope not." Then she walked away, leaving Desmond to his dark and brooding thoughts.

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_It could be stress from the Animus._ No, that wasn't right. He wasn't having any dreams about being Ezio, nor seeing any ghosts. Maybe he really was going nuts.

He soon started seeing blood running down the walls, spiders descending from the ceiling to eat out his eyes, more fire. He spend most of his time outside, so he'd have somewhere to run.

Now, he stood on the roof of the Villa, staring over Monteriggioni. No visions or deathtraps yet.

"Desmond." Lucy's head and shoulders emerged above the roof.

Desmond looked sideways at her, not moving. When he didn't answer, Lucy climbed the rest of the way onto the roof, walking over and standing next to him.

"Listen.." she began. "I know you've been dealing with a lot lately, but maybe you could try getting back in the Animus? It might be able to take your mind off of..." She trailed off as Desmond's blade flicked out of its sheath. Lately, it had started turning into a hissing, writhing snake before his eyes, but it decided to stay metal this time.

She didn't understand. He didn't just not_ want_ to get back in that machine, he couldn't. He knew that getting in there would just be another nightmare. Desmond pulled his blade back. "I..." he began, but he couldn't find any words. Then he sighed and looked back at Lucy, eyes pleading. "What's wrong with me? I keep seeing things that aren't there, things trying to kill me. I can't sleep, because I'll have nightmares about God knows what. I can't eat, or the food will turn into spiders or snakes or organs. I can't drink, the water always turns to blood. I can't even stay in one spot, because what if the room I'm in sets on fire?"

Lucy shook her head. "I'm sorry... I can't help you," she said sadly, leading Desmond to look away. "But I'll always be with you, supporting you, and I will do anything - _anything_ - I can to get you through this." She laid a hand on his shoulder, comforting him. Desmond looked back, suddenly aware of how close they were.

"Thank you," he murmured, leaning his head closer.

Their lips met. It was unlike anything Desmond had ever experienced, made him feel like he could do it, he could beat the visions and nightmares and hallucinations. He wrapped his arms around her waist, pulled her body closer. Lucy ran her hands through his hair, accepting the kiss. They stood there, lost in each other.

An owl hooted loudly, leading the both of them to jump and break apart. They were both panting, Lucy's hair beginning to come out of its bun. Desmond reached his hand up to stroke her cheek, but to his surprise, she pulled away.

"I'm sorry," she said, backing away. "I just _can't _deal with this right now." She reached the edge of the roof and dropped down, saying as she left "Just... think about that Animus, okay?"

Desmond was left alone, standing on that roof, unspoken words caught in his throat.

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**So, how was that? Worth the wait? I went on vacation, and had a lot of writing time. I've finished another chapter, but I just got back and it's -checks- 3am. Posting this, then going to bed. Hope you enjoyed and let me know what you thought :)**

**Yes, the kiss was clichéd, and though I don't really support the pairing - I just kind of roll with it - I liked it. It'll make sense later, don't worry ;)**


	4. IV

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**Thanks to Vesa290 for correcting my Italian mistakes in chapter one and two! That was great :)**

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_And the terror itself is an example of the world's uncontrollability.  
_******-Ulrich Beck**

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Desmond cried for a long time. Normally he wouldn't be caught dead like that, but rejection hurt, and his mind was so weak lately. He thought Lucy would be the answer to his problems - the dreams, the hallucinations. But even she left him, and now Desmond knew that no one cared enough about him to even be seen with him. There was_no fucking way_ he was getting back in that Animus, and he couldn't face any of the team knowing he'd failed them.

_God I've lied, am I lost in your eyes?_

Anger and sadness built up inside of Desmond, and he howled his grief to the night sky, a long, wordless cry that said everything for him. It _did_ make him feel a little better. Enough to make him realize he was being an idiot. A big baby. Of course Lucy didn't want to get involved with him. They were co-workers, Assassins. He probably still couldn't face her, not yet, but the hurt was gone.

So he sat, brooding over his visions. Perhaps they meant something?

A clatter to his right made him look over. Lucy was climbing back up the roof. She walked over to him, but there was something... wrong about the way she moved. Dismissing it to his paranoia, Desmond watched as she got closer. She didn't stop. Straddled him, wrapping her arms around his neck.

"...Lucy?" She didn't answer, just smashed her lips to his, entangling her hands in his hair. Desmond responded, grabbing her round the waist, running a hand up her back.

Desmond opened his eyes. Lucy's cerulean pools were millimeters from his, but there was a cold glint in them, like they were made of ice. That uneasy feeling came back. Lucy's eyes shimmered and blurred. And melted.

Desmond cried out and fell back onto his elbows as Lucy's face bubbled and liquified before his eyes.

"Desssssmmonnnndddd," she gurgled, reaching toward him.

"No!" he cried, bringing his foot out from under her and smashing it into her jaw. Lucy's head snapped up, and - to his horror - her jawbone snapped off of its weakened hinges and spun through the air.

Lucy's head cracked back down, her tongue lolling with nothing to support it. She was completely unrecognizable; all her features melting away, beginning to expose muscle, bone. She reached toward him. Desmond scrabbled backwards over the loose shingles. Those blue eyes shone brighter and brighter, lighting up Lucy's body with an unnatural cerulean glow.

"Get away from me!" Desmond screamed, feeling himself losing control.

Lucy stood, still glowing. She raised her arms beside her and leaned her head back. Desmond could see her brain through her disintegrating face and snapped-off jaw.

_So take me and make me weak_  
_And then save me_

"NO!" he roared again, lurching to his feet. Whipping out his blade, he rushed forward, puncturing Lucy's stomach.

It was like popping a balloon. A balloon filled with guts and blood and flesh. The light exploded, taking Lucy with it, instantly coating Desmond in blood, gore, and chips of bone.

Desmond sank to his knees, sobbing, coated in blood. He'd killed her. Again...

_This hate that you gave me_  
_Keeps saying the same thing_

And suddenly, it clicked. "This isn't real," Desmond muttered. "It's not real," he repeated, louder. "You're not real!" he screamed at the blood, the gore. Instantly, it vanished, leaving Desmond staring at his clean hands, his shining silver blade. It reflected his brown eye back at him. It was crazed, wide, frightened. Tears ran down his cheeks.

"What is _wrong _with me?" Desmond whispered again. That was the one question he wanted - _needed _- answered. But if there was an answer, it didn't make itself clear.

He was having trouble distinguishing reality from his visions. Did he and Lucy kiss? Was she even on the roof that first time? Was he even on the roof, or was he imagining that too?

One way to find out. Desmond lurched to his feet and stumbled to the edge of the roof, not really caring if he fell. But he didn't, and managed to climb his way down to the Sanctuary.

Upon arriving in the small room, no one acknowledged him. No one so much as glanced up to see who had walked in. Just another reason for Desmond to hurt, to feel like no one wanted him, no one cared about him.

_To sing when you're hurting_

Taking a deep breath, Desmond walked to where Lucy was sitting. She looked up at him, smiled thinly - forced - and then trained her gaze back to the computer. Acting like nothing had happened. Which maybe it hadn't; Desmond wouldn't know until he asked.

"You... you came up on the roof, right?" he asked softly.

He could practically hear her frown in confusion. "Yes," she answered simply, still not looking at him.

"Just once, right?"

This time she looked up, granting him a confused stare before she glanced down again. "Just once."

"And..." Desmond stopped, nervous, but then mentally kicked himself and continued, needing to know the truth. "We kissed?"

Lucy sighed, clicking the "x" on whatever program she was on, and spun towards him. "Listen, that was just a..." She searched for the right word. "An impulse. I was acting on the moment. I'm sorry, but we're dealing with too much right now to even _think_ about relationships. Just... try and move on."

_To sing when you cry_

For some reason, that made him feel embarrassed. She made it sound like he was some lonely, love-crazed idiot who couldn't live without her. All he'd asked was if they kissed; he didn't want to know the reason why, or what happened after. He'd wanted to know what was real or not.

Desmond turned and walked away stiffly, lowering himself down into the Animus, not caring about his dreams or visions. The only thing on his mind was hoping Rebecca or Shaun hadn't heard their exchange, or were talking about it now. Laughing at him.


	5. V

_Things done well and with a care, exempt themselves from fear.  
_**-William Shakespeare**

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_Rome, 1503_

Ignoring primary memories. Slipping lightly through contracts, or assignments. Desmond knew he couldn't carry on long like this, before Rebecca kicked him in the ass and made him do something. They were running out of time to find the Apple, and Desmond was stalling because of his own selfish reasons.

He was afraid. Nothing unusual happened while he was running about Rome, no missions, but he somehow knew that the second he stepped into a main memory, the visions would start.

_Desmond?_ Rebecca's voice echoed in his head. Damn. She was going to kick his ass into next week.

But instead, she used a gentle tone. _Mind telling me what you're doing? Don't forget, we need that Apple._

Her kind voice was pissing him off. Lucy must've told them about what happened! Now Rebecca was being nice to him because of that. Seething with anger, Desmond didn't answer and instead made Ezio kick his horse into high gear and gallop to where he knew the main memory started.

* * *

_Requiem_  
_Breach the perimeter of Castel Sant'Angelo and confront the Pope inside the Papal Apartments._

Steeling himself, and before he could change his mind, Desmond accepted the memory.

Standing inside the outer courtyard of the Castello, Desmond looked around, first with his own eyes, then using Ezio's Eagle Vision. Everything seemed normal... maybe this wouldn't be so bad. Maybe he was overreacting.

Grinning inwardly, confident, Desmond completed the first part of the mission with ease, killing guards and climbing up one of the walls.

_To sing when you're living_

CHECKPOINT REACHED.

Ezio hauled himself over the wall. Desmond made him stop and look around again. His guard was up as he scanned the area for anything unusual. He crept forward, dispatching a guard with his blade as he did so. The soldier fell to the ground and Desmond passed him without a second thought.

"...Don't I know him from somewhere? Hey, you!" Desmond froze as he heard a voice behind him. Turning slowly, he saw the guard he had just killed... on his feet and weapon drawn. Blood still seeped out from his stomach, spreading a dark stain on his shirt.

_Maybe it's a glitch,_ Desmond tried to reassure himself. _If I just kill him again..._

He drew the crossbow and fired a shot straight through the guard's head. Instead of dying, his head shot back at the neck and came right back up, the guard glaring at Ezio as best he could with an arrow through his eye.

_Great, an unkillable guard,_ Desmond muttered to himself. But that wasn't all, of course not. He looked back up to find the guard was multiplying, five or so identical men springing out of his skin. The cloning apparently wasn't perfect, some of the guards had mutations and defects. Two were missing hands or feet, and one actually had half of his head missing - the side without the arrow - rendering him blind and unable to see his target. The original guard (or what Desmond thought was the original - it was the only one without defects) angrily ripped the arrow out of his head, blood spurting from the hole in his face. The guard's eye was stuck about halfway through the shaft, dragging long fleshy nerves and veins with it as it was ripped out of its socket.

_Okay, I can deal with this,_ Desmond thought, pushing his growing fear and panic down. _Just climb back down the wall..._

But before he could, the guards were thrown back as lights burst from each of their chests.

_Shit!_ Desmond cried at the same time Ezio yelled loudly "Merda!**(1)**"

The balls of light bobbed toward Ezio and began to circle around him, faster and faster. Desmond had seen enough. He practically ripped himself out of the Animus and that memory.

_To sing when you die_

Desmond surfaced, gasping. He pulled the cathader from his arm and pushed away the head restraint.

"Desmond? What happened?" Rebecca asked worriedly, helping him up.

Desmond jerked his hand away. "Don't. Just don't," he hissed, still shaking and frightened from what he had just witnessed.

"Don't!" he screamed loudly, causing Shaun and Lucy to jump and hurry over to where he was standing. Rebecca was staring at him, hurt and confused.

"Did he hallucinate again?" Lucy asked Rebecca hurriedly, as if Desmond wasn't there. Rebecca shrugged.

Everything froze. Desmond started, reminded of the last not-so-pleasant time this happened. Rebecca and Shaun began to glow, and before Desmond could wonder what the hell was happening, twin balls of light rose out of their heads, taking the glow with them.

It was the same lights from the Animus. They were white, but sometimes they darkened and lightened, but never changed colour. They pulsed and flickered, looking like stars.

"What the _hell_ do you want from me?" Desmond asked them, rather forcefully, because obviously they wouldn't answer. They were _lights_.

But to Desmond's utter shock, they did. "**We have been trying to show you what to do,**" they both said at once. Their voices echoed in his head and bounced around, making his ears hurt.

"What to... _do_?" Desmond was rather bewildered. It didn't occur to him how these lights could be taking to him, how they were here, or what they even were. He just went with it. It wasn't the strangest thing he'd seen that week.

"**Yes,**" they responded. "**We have been sending you signs of what your task is.**"

"_What_ task?" Desmond asked, growing impatient. "Just tell me!"

"**You must eliminate the one who stands in your way.**" The lights pulsed faster, and before Desmond could say anything or react, they darted forward and entered him through his mouth. He tried to scream, but images were flickering before his eyes. Desmond, faceless and as a Roman guard, cutting off Lucy's face. Lucy exploding after Desmond had stabbed her. But those weren't real. That didn't actually happen. The proof was standing right in front of him, Lucy, with a worried and concerned look on her face, frozen.

More images. These were new, a large black room, glowing with blue lights. Desmond tried to study it, but it flicked away before he could get a good look. An Apple, sitting on some sort of stand. Desmond touching it. And then - he stabbed her. The blade jumped out of its sheath, calling for blood, and seemed to cry out with joy as Desmond sunk it into Lucy's flesh.

The images were gone. Desmond fell to his knees, suddenly exhausted. The lights were in front of him again, except they were red. Red like blood.

"**We tried to show you, send you visions so you might figure it out on your own. But you have been stubborn. What you just saw was your task. Do not fail us.**"

"Fail _who_?" Desmond howled. "What the fuck was that? _Who are you_?" But they were gone, leaving nothing but a red glow in their midst.

"-still think we should make him get back in there," Shaun was saying. _Dick._ Desmond slowly rose to his feet, the lights' words still burning in his mind.

"**Do not fail ussss,**" a voice repeated in his ear, before fading away.

"Come on, he's obviously sick or something!" Rebecca shot back at Shaun.

"What does that matter?" The Brit's voice rose. "We need that Apple Rebecca, or have you forgotten about that?"

Lucy's eyes were fixed on Desmond as he took deep breaths and tried to prevent his stomach from spitting out whatever was in it.

"It might be kind of hard to find it if he dies, Shaun," Rebecca said loudly, clearly growing more irritated.

"Oh come on, he's not that sick," Shaun scoffed.

"Shut up, both of you!" Lucy snapped over her shoulder. Turning back, she asked, "Desmond? Are you okay? You look really pale."

Desmond was still breathing deeply, trying to make sense of what the lights said in his mind. It could've been another hallucination. But they said they'd sent the visions, for some sort of task... what would a pair of lights want Lucy dead for?

"I need some air," Desmond muttered, turning. Somehow he ended up on his hands and knees on the floor, the hard stone inches from his face.

"Oh no you don't," Lucy scolded, helping him back to his feet. She wrapped his arm around her shoulder and half guided, half dragged Desmond out the Sanctuary and up the steps. That woman could be really strong if she wanted to.

* * *

Lucy lowered Desmond against a wall and he slid down it, gratefully welcoming the cold rock against his back. The blonde crouched down next to him, staring at him worriedly.

Now that it was just the two of them alone, the whispering in Desmond's brain grew louder, until hundreds of voices were screaming at him at once, their words overlapping each other's.

"**-in our way!**"

"**-must be done-**"

"**-just a flick of the wrist-**"

"**KILL HER.**"

The last voice was so loud Desmond felt like his brain would explode. He leaned forward, clutching his head in his hands, and moaned softly.

_And here at the end_  
_At the end of the hurt_  
_All the pain isn't the same_  
_When it's your turn to burn_

Desmond was dimly aware of a voice, not from inside his head, but floating through his ear canal.

"Are you okay? Desmond?"

A hand was shaking his shoulder. Desmond released his head and looked up at Lucy.

She looked so worried... so concerned for him. _Fuck_ those stupid lights! If they wanted Lucy dead, they'd have to get past Desmond to do it. There was_ no way _he was going to kill her.

* * *

**1 - Shit!**

**FFFFFF. Talking lights? Really? Well, it was bound to happen eventually. Anyone who can guess what (or whoooo) the lights are gets a cookie :D**


	6. VI

****

**First thing's first, I changed the rating of this story to M because the gore in this chapter is just ridiculous. Seriously.**

* * *

_There is no glory in battle worth the blood it costs.  
_**-Dwight D. Eisenhower**

* * *

"I just don't know what to do."

Desmond had been pouring out what he'd seen the past days, but left out the parts about the lights. Lucy didn't need to know about that.

"So, that's why you got out of the Animus so fast?" she asked. "You were only in there for about an hour." Desmond nodded in response. They had been talking for a good few hours now; the sky was starting to lighten.

Lucy noticed it too. "Damn. We should go back inside. We can talk later, okay? I won't make you go back in the Animus. Just ignore Shaun's whining."

Desmond grinned a bit. Lucy smiled back, and suddenly both of them were laughing, laughing so hard their sides hurt and tears were streaming down their faces, until they were doubled over, clutching their stomachs. There wasn't really anything that funny about what Lucy had said, but Desmond needed a way to let all his feelings out, and you know what they say - laughter's contagious. He guessed his brain needed something normal to do, and since sitting in a corner, rocking back and forth, wasn't normal, it chose face-ripping, side-splitting laughter.

Lucy stopped first. She straightened up, a huge smile on her face, and clapped Desmond on the back, who was still chuckling a bit, bent over. "Thanks," she laughed. "I needed that."

"Me too," Desmond gasped, happiness the only thing on his mind as he tried to get his breath back. "Shaun really _is_ an ass, isn't he?"

"Oh, stop it," Lucy scolded, but her lips still turned up in a smile.

"Oi, are you two _planning_ on getting caught?" And there was Shaun, arms crossed, standing in the doorway to the Sanctuary.

"Because, you know, I _really_ like not being dead," he went on. "But if you _want_ to stand out here in broad daylight when Abstergo has planes and helicopters and whatnot looking for us..."

"Okay, okay!" Lucy held up her hands in a sign of surrender. "We're coming."

The ground buckled beneath their feet. A massive - what felt like - earthquake shook under where Desmond was standing. He and Lucy fell forward, thrown off balance.

"Woah!" Shaun was startled by their fall. "What's gotten into you?"

"Can't you... feel it?" Desmond gritted his teeth, on his hands and knees next to Lucy on the shaking ground.

Shaun, standing a good ten feet away, raised an eyebrow. "Well, if this is your idea of a joke, you've got a lot to learn-"

"What's happening?" Lucy turned her head to Desmond.

"That is what I'd like to know," Desmond muttered, looking around. How was it that Lucy could feel the tremors, not Shaun? This wasn't a vision if someone else could experience it, right?

"Desmond..." Lucy warned, sounding afraid.

Desmond, still focused on not falling, got to his feet slowly. "What?" He turned.

Big mistake. _Big_. _Fucking_. _Mistake_. Because in front of him, broad and standing six feet tall, was a motherfucking _bear_. Brown, with bloodshot eyes and the biggest claws Desmond had ever seen.

That was impossible. Bears didn't live in Italy. Okay, well, they did, but not anywhere near the Villa, and how did it get in through the gate anyway?

The bear stood ten feet in front of him, growling softly. Its head started glowing. Desmond moaned - he knew what was going to happen next.

Sure enough, a light sprung out of the head of the beast. Just one this time, shining a brilliant, blinding, blood red.

"**We tried to show you**," the light began, its voice echoing around Desmond as if there were many of them. "**But you have been stubborn. Now we must show what will happen if you continue to defy us**,"

"No," Desmond moaned. "Not her." Lucy was looking at him, confused.

"**She cannot see us**," the light commented.

"Please. Don't hurt her," Desmond pleaded again, almost resorting to begging.

"**We cannot. If we had the tools to kill her, it would have been done long ago. But it is your destiny, Desmond Miles, to get rid of this obstacle in your path**."

He blinked, taken aback. "Then what's with the bear?" The light was clearly controlling the growling animal, seeing as it hadn't ripped them to pieces yet.

"**I am here to _warn you_**," it said menacingly.

_We're the heart for the heartless_

Desmond was still confused. Was it going to hurt them, without killing them as a warning? But then the bear turned its bloodshot eyes to its right. Towards Shaun.

"No," Desmond breathed. The light couldn't hurt him or Lucy... anyone else was fair game.

"Mind telling us what's happening, Desmond?" Shaun still stood near the entrance, looking at the two of them as if they were crazy. Because maybe they were.

The bear roared so loud Desmond and Lucy covered their ears. It galloped straight towards Shaun. Light dawned in Lucy's eyes when it was a few meters from him.

"No!" she screamed, rushing forward. Desmond lunged for her and grabbed her arm, pinning her back.

"It'll kill you if you go after it," he sobbed, crying helplessly as Shaun was attacked by the wild animal he couldn't see.

The bear grabbed the historian's arm in its teeth and threw him into the air. Shaun cried out with surprise and pain as he landed hard on his hands and knees.

"What the fuck was that?" he screamed, looking around wildly.

"_Do something_!" Lucy cried at Desmond.

"I..." He couldn't. The only thing they could do was watch. Watch as the beast bore down on Shaun again, watch as he was eaten alive.

Shaun was screaming, a desperate, crazed scream. "Help me!" he sobbed at Lucy and Desmond as the bear clawed at his stomach and upper legs. It was messy, digging up flesh and organs and flinging them behind it. Lucy was hit in the cheek with what looked like to be a piece of Shaun's liver. She struggled further, shouting curses at Desmond.

"Let me go, you son of a bitch!" she howled, trying to rip her arms free. Desmond backed up, dragging Lucy with him, out of range of the flying gore.

The screaming turned into whimpering as the sky brightened. Lucy gave up her struggle and just stood there in horror, sobbing. Soon enough, she couldn't look anymore and buried her face in Desmond's shoulder. He released her wrists and pulled her tight in a hug as she cried into his sweater.

The bear tore into its victim loudly, until Desmond wanted to cover his ears so he couldn't hear the sound of crunching bones, the sound of sobbing, the sound of dripping blood. The sounds of death.

Just after eight by Desmond's watch, Shaun fell silent. The bear backed up and turned around, its snout covered in blood, scraps of flesh caught in its fur. The light - it had been there the entire time - floated over above its head.

"**We warned you**," the light said again. "**You didn't do as we asked. _This_ is what will happen again if you do not co-operate**." And then it was gone, the bear turning to ash as soon as the light faded. Desmond's arms fell by his sides as he saw the scene in front of him.

Shaun had been ripped to shreds. The bear had been thorough (but how could it? It was a _bear_...), tearing away the flesh at his stomach, drawing out his intestines like a cat plays with string. The historian's lower abdomen resembled a pile of ground meat, trampled and crushed by the bear's huge paws. He lay sprawled out, face frozen in terror, eyes blank. His glasses had been knocked from his face, smashed and stepped on. The frames were crooked, a lens cracked, the other missing completely.

Bones were sticking out everywhere, from Shaun's chest cavity, from his neck, from his shoulder where the bear had almost ripped his arm off. Blood was seeping out, creating a growing crimson puddle around his body.

Lucy, hearing nothing, turned slowly, black lines running down her face where her tears fell, mixing with her smudged makeup. She choked in shock, then fell to her knees. Desmond caught her under the arms before she could fall completely, pulling her back to her feet.

"Oh God," Lucy whispered, eyes round and filled with fresh tears.

Desmond took her waist and led her slowly to where the barely-recognizable man lay. The only thing on his mind was the last thing he'd said about him:

_Shaun really _is_ an ass, isn't he_?_

* * *

_

**Holy fucking God. I killed Shaun. I'M SORRY D: It had to be done, you'll see why later.**

**Also: that DID happen. Desmond didn't imagine any of that. The lights can choose who to show themselves too, and thus didn't want Lucy seeing it. As for why she could feel the earthquake and see the bear... you'll find out.**


	7. VII

_When true friends meet in adverse hour;_  
_'Tis like a sunbeam through a shower._  
_A watery way an instant seen,_  
_The darkly closing clouds between.  
_**-Walter Scott**

* * *

"Oh my God," Lucy kept saying. She was on her knees next to Shaun, staring blankly at his face. Desmond slid the historian's eyelids closed, and couldn't help muttering, "La tua morte è stato un violento e inutile. Si può trovare la felicità. Requiescat in pace.**(1)**"

Lucy looked up suddenly. "Rebecca," she gasped, and jumped to her feet, seeming not to notice the blood that now stained her knees. She sprinted down the tunnel, worry etched on her face. Desmond stayed behind, brooding.

Who were those fucking lights? He just wanted to grab hold of them and strangle them, slowly and painfully, one by one - however many of them there were. The visions he could handle. But they'd gone too far now. Their sick little plan was not taking him any closer to killing anyone. If anything, it made him feel like he should show them a taste of their own medicine, see how they liked it to get something they didn't want.

Lucy came hurrying back, Rebecca in tow. When the brunette saw the scene of carnage, Desmond kneeling next to what was left of Shaun, she stopped, looked to Lucy for a split second, then rushed over.

"Shit!" she gasped, falling to her knees. She looked up at Desmond, not appearing to be nearly as freaked out as he thought she'd be. She had the hardened, slightly curious look of a detective or a police officer on her face.

"What happened? Who is this guy?" Rebecca asked.

"You... you don't recognize him...?" Lucy spoke quietly, her voice hoarse. She glanced at Desmond, eyes pleading. _Please don't make me do this. Please don't make me tell her who he is._Desmond nodded once, and looked back down at the body. Shaun's face wasn't entirely unrecognizable, but Desmond and Lucy had seen him both before and after he was killed. The historian's face was riddled with scratches and bite marks, and smeared blood ran down everywhere. If Desmond squinted and tilted his head, it was easy to see who he really was. But Desmond knew it was Shaun. Rebecca thought it was some random stranger who had been killed.

Without speaking, Desmond reached over and picked up the glasses, with their bent lenses and cracked frames. He handed them to Rebecca, silent.

The techie still looked confused. "What's with the glasses?" she asked, then trailed off as she inspected them closer. She looked from the glasses to Shaun's face, back and forth. It clicked.

"_No_!" Rebecca screamed, throwing her arms across the bloody body, burying her head in the chest with its exposed bones and organs. By now, all three of them were absolutely caked with blood, and it was starting to dry in places - Lucy's face, Desmond's hands, the edges of the crimson puddle.

Rebecca sobbed for a long time. Lucy sat her up and wrapped an arm around her friend.

"What...? Who...? Fuck!" Rebecca couldn't get her words straight.

_The thoughts for the thoughtless_

She took a deep breath and started over, staring right at Desmond. "What... happened?" she asked slowly, still crying.

Desmond looked at Lucy. The blonde closed her eyes for a moment, then breathed deeply and opened them again.

"I'll tell her," Lucy said softly. "I'm still not sure what happened myself," she began, turning to her friend. "But Desmond and I were out here, talking. Apparently we'd taken too long so Shaun-"

"I told him to go up and find out where you guys went," Rebecca whispered, staring at her hands.

"Oh. Well, he came up, and..." Lucy paused. "Look, this is going to sound a bit insane, but it did happen."

And she went on to tell Rebecca all that had happened, not leaving anything out - the brunette wanted all the details, no matter how ugly.

Desmond sat across from them the whole time, still staring down at Shaun. He needed to tell them about the lights, what they'd said, or this was going to happen again... and there was only one person left who wasn't Lucy or Desmond.

"We had to watch for a while," Lucy was finishing. She took a shaky breath. "It was horrible."

"Lucy," Desmond said quietly. She looked up at him. "You left something out. But it was something only I could see - when I was talking, before..."

Lucy nodded, motioning for Desmond to begin. He told the both of them all about the lights, their warnings and prophecies. This time, he didn't leave anything out. The price was too high.

Lucy's expression changed from shock to slight confusion. She frowned a bit, as Rebecca tried to soak up more information.

"This is real," Desmond said. "Before I didn't think it was, that I was just imagining the whole thing. But this... this is _real_," he repeated firmly, looking up at the two woman. Rebecca didn't seem to care at all about what he'd just said, still staring down at the body, but Lucy was looking at him. Her eyes seemed to bore right through his.

"Why... why didn't you tell me sooner?" she whispered softly, eyes hard.

_The lies for the honest_

Desmond thought it was all very unfair. Lucy was blaming him for not telling her about his fucking visions that he didn't even know they were _real_until an hour ago! And he was kind of too busy watching someone else dying to explain everything to her. What was he supposed to do, say "Oh Lucy, I know Shaun's being hideously slaughtered and all, but I've been chosen by some goddamn lights to murder you"?

He didn't say any of that, just made his eyes even harder than Lucy's and glared at her.

"Guys, we can't just... leave him here. And Abstergo's looking for us," Rebecca pointed out softly.

"How would we do that?" Desmond's question was directed at Rebecca, but he was still looking at Lucy, whose face betrayed her hurt. Whether she was upset about his earlier lack of communication or his harsh look, he couldn't tell.

Rebecca sighed wearily. "I don't know," she admitted. "But we have to do something."

Desmond pushed up his sleeves further. "I can carry him." He lifted Shaun's shoulders gently, wrapping an arm around the back of his neck, and the other under his knees. Blood instantly coated the front of Desmond's body, and some intestines were still dangling under and around Shaun.

"Follow me," Desmond said quietly, leading the two woman slowly around Monteriggioni to where he knew there was a suitable hay pile.

When the group reached the hay, Rebecca had started crying again. Desmond lowered the body gently on top of the rough straw and covered it with more. Pulling his pack around, he reached inside and took out the lighter he kept in there at all times - just in case. No one spoke as he silently bent down and set an edge of the pile ablaze. The sight of fire dragged up memories of his dream, where he had let Lucy die in that world of endless flames, but he pushed them back down. Now was not the time.

The three Assassins stood and watched as the hay was engulfed in flames, taking Shaun's body with it. The distinct smell of burning flesh was distinct in the air, and in spite of everything, Desmond's stomach growled. No one heard over the roar of the now-bonfire, but he couldn't remember the last time he'd eaten.

Rebecca and Lucy were crying, arms wrapped around each other. Desmond felt strangely empty and hollow, which had nothing to do with his hunger. He was all terrified, saddened, happied, and just emotioned out. He felt like nothing could ever make him feel anything ever again, like he was made of stone.

The fire burned itself out when the sun was dipping below the high wall of Monteriggioni. It had become extremely hot, and there was absolutely nothing left of the hay - and the once-Assassin - but ash.

* * *

Two days later, it rained. It was an absolute downpour for a good three hours. Desmond peeked out of the Sanctuary during the storm - the blood was gone. No one had gone outside in two days, leaving the entrance a bloody, gory mess. But the rain had washed it away, and Desmond still felt hollow. He suspected he should've felt something, sadness that the last anything of Shaun was gone, happiness that he'd never have anything to remind him what had happened, relief that Lucy wasn't going to make him clean it up - not that anyone was doing anything anyway. But nothing. He didn't care about his lack of emotions (again, he should have cared about stuff like that); nothing really seemed to matter anymore.

The voices were back, though Desmond seemed to be free of any visions - for now. The lights in his head - that's how he pictured it, a bunch of mini lights floating around, wreaking havoc on his fried brain - kept whispering to him whenever he was within a ten-foot radius of Lucy, tempting him, bargaining with him, threatening him. They tended to all mesh together, creating a long, unbroken jumble in his head. Lately, with nothing to do - no one spoke or made him do anything - he'd sit in a corner or on the stairs, just listening to what they said.

During one of these times, sitting against a wall with his eyes closed, the voices stopped. Desmond opened his eyes, irritated at losing the only thing he could do. He looked around, immediately becoming bored with nothing to do.

Lucy was deftly, almost robotically, organizing supplies. She had a distant, faraway look on her face as she stacked crates of water bottles and food.

Across the room, Rebecca was sitting at her desk, staring at the screen in front of her with a blank look in her eyes. She didn't appear to be moving, and Desmond couldn't hear any telltale mouse clicking.

It was deathly silent in the Sanctuary. Shaun's former work station stood untouched, no one approaching within a two-foot radius of it, as if it was cursed. Papers were littered around the surface of the desk, random notes scribbled on them. The computer had long since turned on its screensaver, and - shit - it was pictures. Photo after photo of memories Shaun had taken a picture of. There was one of Rebecca working at her computer, giving the person behind the camera the finger. One of Rebecca and Lucy talking over salads, smiles frozen on their faces, forks hovering in mid-air. Shaun, his face angry, thrusting a finger at whoever was operating the camera - looks like Rebecca got revenge. Shaun, Rebecca, and Lucy, all standing together, huge grins on their faces and laughing. They must've put the camera on timer; Desmond didn't remember being there or taking the picture. Photos flashed by, pictures of Shaun, of Lucy, of Rebecca, of the three of them together, or pairs, of different combinations. No Desmond. Well, what else was he expecting? He had only known them for a couple weeks, and most of that time he'd spent sitting on his ass.

Desmond's eyes flicked away from the screen, back to Lucy. She was closer now, and he could hear faint whisperings in the back of his mind.

"**You saw what happened-**"

"**-punishment for your arrogance...**"

"**_Eeeeeeeevvvvve_.**"

The last voice was near silent, a long whisper. _Eve_? The only thing Desmond knew about Eve was from the old Bible story, and he barely knew that. He shrugged it off, thinking that maybe one of the lights was trying to throw him off by spouting random names.

Desmond looked back at Shaun's desk again. They should probably tell someone about his death... but Desmond didn't think he was qualified to send that email, and he couldn't ask Lucy or Rebecca...

He started, seeing something on Shaun's desk. Running over, he ripped aside a pile of papers and pulled out a flash drive, staring at it. Lucy hadn't noticed what he was doing, but Rebecca had looked up and was staring at him with wide eyes.

"That..." she whispered, then stood slowly. "I know what that is!" The Assassin strode over an snatched the device from Desmond's hand, hurrying back to her computer.

"We got something?" Desmond asked, coming to stand beside her.

"...I think so," Rebecca answered, plugging the flash drive into her computer. She typed a few words, then her eyes widened. "He had it all this time.."

"What is it?" Lucy had heard and came to stand on the other side of Rebecca.

"I found that... thing on Shaun's desk," Desmond filled her in, as much as he knew. "Rebecca took it. I don't know what it is..."

Lucy gasped. "Is that...?" Great, now Desmond was the only one standing there like an idiot as Lucy bent over the screen.

"Can someone _please_tell me what's happening?" he asked.

Rebecca spun around, tapping the top of her monitor. "This is something extremely important to our mission, it might help us find the Apple once and for all! Why Shaun had it and didn't bother to tell us, I don't know though..." She looked back around, thoughtful.

"That's great," Desmond said, somewhat annoyed. "But what is it?"

Lucy turned toward him, excitement in her eyes. "It's a new memory!" she said happily, for the first time in days.

Desmond gulped. "So, like... the Animus?"

"Well, we'd have to run some tests first," she explained. "But yes, you need to go back in."

_We're the gods of the godless!_

* * *

**1 - Your death was a violent and unnecessary one. May you find happiness. Rest in peace.**

**Yay for chapters where nothing's happening 8D I've had this written for a good few days, but couldn't post it cause FF was being retarded and not letting me log in...**

**Reviews are greatly appreciated! -is a review whore-**


	8. VIII

**Desmond fans are probably going to be irritated (not furious, don't worry) at what I put him through in this chapter. Myself included; I am ashamed that I even thought of this..**

* * *

_A man should look for what is, and not for what he thinks should be.  
_**-Albert Einstein**

* * *

The gods hated him. More than likely, it was still the lights out to get revenge, but Desmond didn't really care about the details. All he cared about was the absolutely terrifying nightmare he had.

Yeah, he was nervous for the next day, for getting back into the Animus, but the only cause of his nerves was the fear of more damn visions. He'd gone to bed with a heavy heart, after Lucy insisted he get some rest.

He had been pretty tired, so the moment his head hit the pillow, he was out. But not the good type of out.

As soon as Desmond closed his eyes, he was presented with a dark, dimly lit basement - like the kind from _Saw _or something. When you see one of those, you know it's never a good thing.

And it wasn't. Squinting, his eyes adjusting to the light, Desmond could just about make out a shape that looked an awful lot like a large cage sitting in the centre of the room, standing around three feet tall. There was a mass huddled in a far corner. Except it was sort of like a blob - there was no distinguishable objects, limbs, or otherwise protruding from it. It was slowly throbbing, as if it was breathing, and moans occasionally escaped it.

Knowing he was going to regret it, but somehow not able to stop himself, Desmond padded forward slowly, trying to see what was in the cage.

It was a person, hunched over on itself - _herself_. Limbless and nude. Both her arms and legs had been amputated, not very cleanly, and recently. Nothing had been bandaged or stitched up, exposing muscle and bone. There was small, threadlike pieces of flesh and muscle hanging from places where her limbs used to be. She was curled up in a corner of the cage, as curled as she could be with no knees to grab on to or hands to grab with.

Blood everywhere - there was a thick layer covering the entire bottom of the cage and the woman's flesh had taken on a slightly pinkish hue from the blood coating her entire body. As Desmond stared in mute horror, eyes wide, she raised her head to look in his direction. Her face resembled that of a caterpillar. Two large pincer-like objects had been thrust through her top lip, the tops of which sticking out from just under her nostrils. And that's all her nose was - nostrils. There was no nose on her face at all, just a large hole in the middle of it. All her teeth had been pulled - ripped - out. She opened her mouth to moan again, revealing a strangely empty mouth - no tongue either. It looked like her eyelids had been sliced off, giving her eyes a wide, bug-like appearance.

Desmond reeled back in shock and horror - who the _fuck _would do that to a person? As his eyes travelled down the length of her short torso, he saw that both her breasts had also been crudely amputated, exposing two large holes in her chest that still oozed blood, pus, and other bodily fluids.

The woman's eyes were wide, pleading. She stared up at him with a helpless expression on her face, moaning again in pain.

And Desmond - oh-so-useful Desmond - just stood there, staring wide-eyed at her. It was so terrible... and yet he couldn't look away. It was like the begging, pain-drenched look in her blue eyes was pulling him in...

Blue. Eyes. "No," Desmond gasped, falling forward on his knees. Her face was nearly unrecognizable, but those eyes... there was no mistaking them.

"Lucy?" he gulped. Dim recognition dawned in her eyes, as if she hadn't heard her name called in a long time. But it was still hers, the one thing she could cling to.

Desmond slowly crawled closer to the cage, the smell of sweat, blood, and fear washing over him. Lucy still lay curled, pleading with her eyes. She had absolutely no other way of communicating with him - no tongue to speak with, no hands to mime with.

Desmond felt so sorry for her. Stuck in that fucking cage, suffering... There seemed to be no door on her cell, and no lock to unlock, but then his hand hit something as he was crawling, and he looked down.

A small, silver, .22 pistol. Lucy's eyes lit up. It was absolutely absurd, someone actually gaining hope when they saw a gun, but... As Desmond picked it up and cradled it in his hand, the barrel seemed to direct itself toward her head. She nodded quickly, sharply, the pincers in her lips clicking together with the movement. Her neck stretched toward him, as if she was trying to get closer to the gun - it was her only saviour.

Hand trembling, Desmond placed his finger over the trigger. She wants this, he reassured himself. It's the only way.

The bullet left the gun and exploded the right side of Lucy's head, spraying brains everywhere. She slumped down, the fresh blood only showing a minor difference in the red that coated her entire cage.

Desmond stood shakily, avoiding the cage with his eyes. He dropped the gun, and as it clattered to the floor, lights burst into bloom from bulbs all down the room that Desmond now discovered to be about as long as a hockey rink.

People - at least, they looked to be people - were chained all up and down the walls. A couple were like Lucy was, limbless and stuck in cages. The ones that were chained to the walls had so many things wrong with them it was hard to begin.

A man on the right wall, third down, had two arms and two legs - and more. There was extra hand sewed to his cheek, and another leg attached to the area between his penis and anus. It was extremely small, hanging down to about the man's knees. It looked a lot like a baby or young child's leg. Scanning the walls quickly, Desmond saw all adults. He didn't even want to know where that extra leg came from.

A man and woman, chained next to each other, looked like someone had attempted a crude sex change on the two. The man's penis had been amputated and sewn to the front of the woman's pelvis. Blood ran down between his legs, and Desmond looked away before he could see what it looked like.

There was a man hanging by his neck from the low ceiling about twenty feet from where Desmond was standing, rotating slowly, his the soles of his feet about two feet off the ground. When his back came round, Desmond quickly squeezed his eyes shut, but not before the image was ingrained in his mind.

Someone had taken a knife and sliced down the centre of the poor man's upper back, between his shoulder blades down to where his ribcage ended. Then, casting aside the knife and using their bare hands, they pulled apart his ribs at the spine and ripped out his lungs, tossing them onto the floor as if they'd mutilated him for fun.

Desmond spun around, opening his eyes. He needed to get out of that room. All the people in that room were dead except for him, and he was also the only one wearing a scrap of clothing.

There was no door behind him, only a solid gray brick wall. Reluctantly, Desmond turned back around and walked hesitantly around the cage Lucy's body - if you could call it that - was in, then strode to the far end of the room, trying not to look at any of the dead people or their wide, staring eyes. He edged slowly around the man hanging from the ceiling, almost slipping in the blood coating the floor - still wet. Whoever had done this had done it recently, and he had a pretty good idea of who it was.

A light materialized in front of him. "Ah, perfect timing," Desmond growled. "Want to tell me where the fuck I am, and why all these people are..." He trailed off. "...like _this_?"

The light pulsed slowly, giving off a soft purple-ish glow. "**Look at all these people**." It swept around the room, as if showing him all the carnage. Its voice still rang clearly in Desmond's head, no matter how far away it got.

"**Look at them**," the light continued. "**Tortured. Killed. _Murdered_**." It said the last word slyly, knowingly, as if it knew what Desmond did to Lucy. Which it probably did.

"Okay, but why show me this?" Desmond hissed at it. "Are you trying to give me a freaking heart attack? No offense, but this dream isn't really realistic. Because that's what this is, a dream, isn't it?" He was rather proud of himself for figuring that out.

"**Oh no**," the light purred, swooping back round to hover in front of Desmond. "**This is no dream. Yes**," it said as he opened his mouth in protest, "**your body is asleep in the Villa, but you're actually here in spirit. This room is real. You're seeing it now, in real time**."

"But-" Desmond sputtered, turning back around toward the cage where Lucy's body was. And, to no one's surprise, it was gone.

"**That was a hallucination**," the light admitted. "**She wasn't really here. But all these others are real. Here, right now. Dead**."

"...Where are we?" Desmond whispered, stunned that this would be happening. That people would let it happen. That someone was making it happen.

"**Oh, I couldn't tell you that**," the light scoffed in response.

Desmond huffed frustratedly.

"**Are you _scared_, seeing all these people**?" The purple cloud swirled around near his face, obviously trying to appear menacing as it grew darker and more red. Its glow radiated around the room, dyeing those parts of the people chained to the wall - that weren't already coated in blood - a reddish colour.

"Fuck," Desmond moaned, stretching out the word.

_Let it all burn_  
_I will burn first_

"What's the_ point_?" he yelled. "Showing me visions of myself slaughtering her isn't making me want to kill her any more. It's just... horrible, that feeling of knowing that her blood was on my hands. I'd rather kill myself before I murder her. You're not getting any closer to completing your sick _prophecies_," he spat.

"**Oh, aren't we**?" the light said knowingly. "**I can see your thoughts, your fears, your wants. I know**-"

"Cut your bullshit!" Desmond hissed. "I know what I want. And it doesn't involve killing anyone."

The light pulsed redder, faster, but then seemed to calm itself as it settled down. "**You say that now. But I know there's a dark side to your thoughts, Desmond Miles. Sooner or later, you will see the right thing to do**."

"The right thing? The _right thing_?" Desmond exploded, but before he could rant anymore, the light sucked itself up into the ceiling, taking all the light in the room with it. Desmond was plunged into murky darkness again, the only light coming from a small window set high up the wall, letting a tiny bit of moonlight through it.

"Okay, so how long are you planning on keeping me in here for?" Desmond called to the empty room. No answer, as he'd expected; the lights were probably mad at him for not going along with their plan. Typical. He decided to continue with his earlier plan, to find out if there was a door anywhere.

Turning on the small light on his watch, Desmond continued slowly forward, taking care not to step on... _anything_. He looked back once more, just to check the cage was still gone. Nothing. It made sense that woman in the cage was a hallucination - it explained why she didn't bleed to death or die of shock like everyone else in the room.

At the end of the room, there was clearly no door. Desmond slammed his fists once against the bare brick, trying to repress a sob. He bowed his head, squeezing his eyes shut.

There was a thump from above. So he _was_in a basement. Desmond raised his head slowly, training the weak light from his watch on the ceiling. It was largely normal, dark lights hanging from it, covered in dust and cobwebs. But on a square disturbed area, there was a ringed, circular handle - a trapdoor. Desmond padded over, wary of any more noises, and tried to reach the handle. He wasn't even close. Someone on the other side would have to lower down a rope or ladder before he could climb up. And judging by the state of the people in the room, Desmond wasn't sure he wanted whoever had done this to them to come to his rescue.

Okay, so he was trapped in there. How long could he stay alive before his real body died, faded away to nothing? Was time even passing back at the Villa? Was Desmond just doomed to stay in this hellhole for the rest of his life, with nothing to do but watch dead bodies decay?

_God of time, am I lost in your eyes?_

_Might as well try to find a light switch_, Desmond thought, determined not to die in the dark. He cast his small light around and wandered from one end of the room to the other, trying to find some sort of switch.

Well, there _was _one. Right in between the man and woman that had had the bloody sex change - and the word 'bloody' was used in a literal way.

The two unfortunates were chained up rather close to each other, leaving a small gap between for the switch, which was, like everything else, coated with blood. The man's head lolled and his eyes were closed - he must've gone without much of a fight. But the woman's wrists and ankles were ragged where she'd pulled and kicked against the chains. Her eyes stretched wide and terrified, a light shade of brown.

Tearing his gaze away, Desmond reached gingerly in between the bodies and flipped the switch.

Bulbs burst into bloom like flowers in the spring. Desmond shielded his eyes against it for a couple seconds, then lowered his hand again.

The room seemed even more terrible with the lights on - he almost wanted to turn them back off. But he'd gone through a lot to turn those lights on, damn it, and they were staying on.

"Okay, so now what?" Desmond asked, half to the non-existent light, and half to himself. No answer from either.

Just standing there was pissing him off and making him feel nervous, so Desmond started to walk in little circles around the room. He did figure eights, reversed direction, and spirals every couple minutes to keep himself entertained. And soon, he was running, pushing himself, challenging himself to keep sprinting faster, to take sharp turns and not slip on the blood caked floor.

Soon realizing how much of an idiot he was being, Desmond slowed and stopped, panting and sweating. Who knew how much water there was down here? And there was still the problem of how fucking long he was going to stay down there.

Desmond looked around for what felt like the millionth time for a way out. The window was too small and too high to climb out of, and had bars anyway. There was no doors, only a trapdoor in the ceiling that could only be opened from the other side. He wasn't particularly optimistic about escape, and not even sure he wanted to know who lived in this house.

"_Shit_!" Desmond yelled loudly, turning and slamming his fist onto the closest thing to him - which was the brick wall. The hard brick wall. His hand collapsed under itself with the weight of the blow, and he felt at least one finger break. Letting out an agonized wail, Desmond cradled his hand close to his chest. He'd broken a few bones before, every Assassin had, but this hurt more. Maybe it was because of all he'd been experiencing, and it all just piled up and boiled over.

Gasping in pain, Desmond stumbled toward the window to inspect the damage - his watch was on his right hand, the one he'd broken, and the light was positioned in such a way that it would be near impossible to maneuver it to look at his hand.

Already, the hand was starting to swell up, and the knuckles were cut and bloody. Desmond cringed; would he have to reset the bones by himself?

There was a noise behind him, from the far end of the room - where the trapdoor was. Whipping around, Desmond backed against the bare wall as the door swung down and a ladder was lowered.

"Did I hear someone down here?" It was a woman's voice. Desmond blinked; he didn't expect the person who'd done these horrible things to be a woman. Maybe she didn't actually do it, but was the wife of whoever was, and he was out.

A foot stepped down on the top rung, followed by another on the second. When the legs were in view, Desmond hurriedly switched off his light and stepped out of the moonlight; maybe she wouldn't see him.

She'd brought a torch with her though, and soon it was flashing all around the room, illuminating the dead men and woman, before finally landing on Desmond.

The woman squinted - she was in her mid-50s, with glasses and graying hair, giving Desmond even more belief that she hadn't done all this. "Who are you?" she asked. Her voice was slightly shaky.

Desmond opened his mouth, but she shook her head. "Doesn't matter," she said, without waiting for an answer. "You're just what I need for my collection - I haven't got any with hair like yours yet." He reeled back further.

Eagle Vision activated itself. The woman illuminated the room with the redness of her body. Switching back to normal vision, Desmond looked around desperately for something he could defend himself with. He had nothing, only his fists... _fist_.

The woman crept toward him slowly. Desmond's eyes darted up to the ladder - maybe he could slip past her and escape - but then she turned and pushed it back up into the ceiling.

"You're very naughty, sneaking into my house like this," the woman scolded. "You'll have to be punished." Switching the torch to her left hand, she withdrew a very long, very sharp carving knife from inside her clothes. Desmond's adrenaline kicked into high gear, and his heart pounded faster as he looked around for some way of escape. Being cornered was nothing new to him, and he knew how to disarm someone, but they'd never practiced with broken hands. Still, he'd have to try.

Crouching down in a defensive position, Desmond watched the woman's every move as she advanced on him, studying her. She limped slightly, favouring her left leg - he could take advantage of that.

All his tactics were deemed useless, however, when she threw the knife with an expert hand straight at him. Yelping, Desmond jumped out of the way a second too late. The knife stuck itself into his thigh, burying itself deep into his flesh.

Completely panicking now, Desmond ripped the knife out of his leg and threw it to the ground, all thoughts of defending himself lost. "Okay!" he howled at the ceiling. "I'll do it, just _get me out of here_!"

The same purple light shone into existence in front of his face. "**If you are not being truthful... We shall have to do the same to your other friend as we did the first**," it warned him.

"I am, I am!" Desmond screamed. "Don't let her kill me!"

The room was gone, replaced by the Animus loading area. Desmond collapsed to the floor, sobbing, ignoring the pain shooting everywhere through his body, and ignoring the fact that the pain was still there. _Hadn't I been dreaming..?_

* * *

Desmond's eyes flew open. Of course, back in the Sanctuary. In his little cot. Except this time, there was no Lucy there when he awoke. He lay there for a few minutes, just thinking about the dream he'd had. He promised the light he'd kill Lucy, and they probably expected it soon, or they'd do the same to Rebecca as they did to Shaun. Desmond couldn't stand to see another friend hideously murdered, but there was no _way_ he was going to be doing the killing, either. So there was only one solution - run, and hope to God the lights didn't catch up.

* * *

**Yes. There's a light on Desmond's watch. Get over it.**

**Okay, so the scene in the basement, what the woman did to the people, was inspired by what Delphine LaLaurie did to her slaves in the 1800s. I mentioned only a few things she did, go search her on Wikipedia.**

**Poor Desmond, being scared out of his wits by an old lady D:**

**But still, please review!**


	9. IX

_No one can possibly know what is about to happen: it is happening, each time, for the first time, for the only time._  
-**James Arthur Baldwin**

* * *

Okay, Desmond thought, trying to sit up so he could tell Lucy and Rebecca about his plan - which wasn't really much of a plan. But however much he tried, he couldn't get the energy to sit up. He'd been lying there for a couple hours, and he felt dizzy and lightheaded, even with his head on a pillow.

Groaning, Desmond reached up to run his hand over his face. Pain shot up each of his fingers, up his arm, through his heart, and burned up to his brain.

Desmond gasped, a sharp intake of shock and pain. Reeling, still dizzy, he sat up quickly—too quickly.

The first thing he registered was the absolutely mind-numbing headache he got sitting up so fast. Then, from the reaction of using only his legs to prop up his torso, a tremendous pain in the muscle on his right thigh. This time Desmond actually cried out, automatically slapping a hand to his injured leg—his injured hand.

"Fuck!" Desmond screeched, his brain overloading from the pain.

In the dim light, he looked down at himself for the first time.

Blood was slowly seeping through the white sheets around his upper legs. Gaping, Desmond stared, then held up his right hand, swollen and bruised. Turning it around so he could see the back of it, he noticed the knuckles were scratched.

Hoping his situation wasn't what he thought it was, Desmond ripped aside the sheets around his legs.

There was a large hole in his jeans and his right leg. It was oozing blood, though not as much as it should have been. No wonder he felt dizzy and wanted to throw up.

"The dream..." Desmond muttered. "It was real." For the first time, he looked around slowly.

His cot was placed long-side against the wall, with another bed at the headboard and another at the footboard. Rebecca was in the bed behind him, but the bed in front was empty. Desmond looked around. Lucy was at her computer, her head resting on the keyboard - asleep. With only two people that could keep night watch, they were being worn thin.

Desmond felt a stab of pity as he looked at the blonde sleeping, overworked. He almost didn't want to have to wake her up, but she had to know about what they had to do. Swinging his legs over the side of the bed - gently - Desmond stood slowly, swaying slightly.

The room spun around him, turning the world upside down. Desmond huffed air and took a stubborn step forward. He ended up on the ground on his hands and knees, jarring more pain from his injuries, but even that couldn't wake him up. Blackness slammed down over Desmond's eyes, and he fell forward, unconscious.

* * *

A couple hours later, Lucy's shoulder was shaken roughly, startling her awake. Perking up instantly, Lucy snapped her head up and whipped it around, instinctively grabbing for the closest thing to defend herself with—a pair of scissors. She brandished these furiously as blinked sleep out of her eyes, and the person who had woke her came into focus.

"Lucy," Rebecca was saying. Instantly the blonde relaxed and set down the scissors, stretching. "Yeah Becca, what is it?" she yawned, rising from her chair where she had fallen asleep.

Rebecca didn't need to explain herself—Lucy saw it. _Him_. Desmond lay sprawled out on the floor a couple feet from his cot, face down, a very small puddle of around his right side. Lucy stopped mid-yawn and rushed over to Desmond.

"What happened?" she managed to gasp out as she knelt beside Desmond, checking his pulse. Faint, but there.

"I don't know," Rebecca answered, crouching down beside the blonde. "I woke up about five minutes ago and saw him lying there. I checked his pulse then woke you up."

Glancing up quickly, Lucy noted the large blood stain on the cot in the middle's sheets. There was no blood trail leading from the exit of the Sanctuary.

"He never went outside," she muttered, looking back down. "Okay, help me roll him over—gently," she said out loud to Rebecca, placing her hands on Desmond's side.

Turning him over, Lucy found the source of the blood—a large gash in Desmond's right thigh. She bit her lip, repressing a gasp. The wound was deep, still slightly bleeding - though not nearly as much as it should have been - and dried blood was spread around the area—a lot of it. Another large amount was staining the crumpled sheets.

"It looks like his hand is broken," Rebecca pointed out, gently lifting and examining it. She seemed to be right; three fingers were bent awkwardly, and the hand was swollen and bloody.

"What the hell _happened_?" the brunette wondered out loud.

Lucy knew. It was probably those lights Desmond had been talking about. At first, she thought he'd gone crazy from the Bleeding Effect when he started seeing all those hallucinations. But then, she saw what happened to Shaun... things like that don't just _happen_out of thin air. The blonde didn't mention that, however, just examined the gash on Desmond's thigh. "We need to move him onto the bed," she announced. Grabbing his legs as gently as she could, with Rebecca at the arms, the two Assassins lowered their co-worker onto the cot.

"Right." Lucy had taken basic first aid training a few years back, and knew how to reset a bone, but she wasn't sure they'd have the right tools. "That leg will need stitches," she told Rebecca. "Go find the first aid kit; I think it's in my desk." The brunette nodded and walked quickly away.

_Now, about the broken hand..._Lucy picked it up gingerly and examined it closer. "Can we make these lights any brighter?" she called to Rebecca.

"No, I don't think so," Rebecca responded from across the room. "These power grids suck; I'm afraid we'll knock out the whole town if we use any more electricity. Found it!" she exclaimed, obviously referring to the first aid kit.

"We don't have a proper cast," Lucy groaned. "We'll have to let the fingers heal with just bandages keeping the bone together."

"Sucks to be Desmond," Rebecca remarked, returning and handing her friend the first aid kit. Lucy cracked it open - it was the best money could buy, but nothing could beat a real hospital - and examined the contents. A healthy amount of gauze, most of it non-adhesive, a handful of butterfly bandages, and various other types of Band-Aids. There were four small orange bottles of pills—Tylenol, anti-inflammatory medication, Benadryl, and diarrhea medication. A few pairs of rubber gloves, paramedic's scissors, alcohol pads. A tube of Neosporin and a roll of duct tape. A CPR face shield, an irrigation syringe, safety pins, and a sewing needle and stitches. Lucy pulled out the gauze, two pairs of rubber gloves, the scissors, a handful of bandages, some alcohol pads, the disinfectant, and the sewing needle and thread. Handing Rebecca a pair of gloves, the blonde snapped hers on, preparing herself.

Rebecca looked nervous, and hell, so was Lucy. "You done this before?" Lucy asked her friend softy.

"You mean woke up to find some guy passed out on the floor with unknown, potentially life-threatening injuries? No Lucy, I don't think I ever have done this before," Rebecca snapped. Whether she was irritated or freaking out, Lucy couldn't tell.

Making a mental note to have a girl-to-girl talk with Rebecca later, Lucy looked back down at the sleeping body. "Sorry," she muttered.

"We need to get his pants off—God that sounds weird." Rebecca spoke up first, referring to the wound on Desmond's leg. Lucy nodded and, together, the two Assassins lifted the two hundred pound deadweight, and pulled and struggled to get his jeans off. Finally, the legs came off over his sock feet. Rebecca whistled slowly at Desmond's wound.

The area around the cut was an angry red. An inch or two deep, it cut right through the muscle and oozed blood. Lucy couldn't see the shape of the wound - there was too much blood around it - but that didn't matter just then.

"Shit," she hissed. "He needs blood." Rebecca's eyes widened when she heard this.

"What's your blood type?" Lucy asked hurriedly.

After a short hesitation, Rebecca stammered out a B positive. Lucy already knew she had the right type, but was secretly hoping she wouldn't have to be the one giving blood.

Lucy breathed out slowly through her nose. "I'm an A positive."

* * *

**Now, if anyone's an uber-AC nerd (like me -shot-), they'll know Desmond is - guess what - A positive! Hmm, I wonder what will happen? :3**

**-double shot-**


	10. X

_The only way to discover the limits of the possible is to go beyond them into the impossible.  
-_**Arthur C. Clarke **

* * *

"This is a dumb idea." Lucy bit her lip as Rebecca swabbed alcohol on the blonde's inside left elbow.

"Will this even_ work_?" Rebecca asked worriedly. "We don't even have an IV..."

Lucy shook her head. "I don't know. This is all we have. Desmond needs blood, or he'll die."

Rebecca sighed. "Right. You're sure you're not sick? We only have one syringe to transfer the blood."

"And are we sure _he's _not sick?" Rebecca wondered. "I don't like this, Lucy."

"Doesn't matter." The blonde looked up from where she was sitting. "It needs to be done, no matter what happens."

When Rebecca heard this, she arched an eyebrow, but went to fetch the syringe anyway.

"We have to clean and bandage his leg first," Lucy stalled, flexing her left arm, fully aware of the alcohol already in place. Reaching down to grab the irrigated syringe, Lucy cleaned most of the dried blood and pus out of Desmond's wound. She wiped it with disinfectant, then examined the position of the cut in comparison to his major arteries.

The wound was millimeters away from Desmond's femoral artery. Had it hit the major blood vessel, the Assassin would've been dead in a matter of minutes. But it hadn't, and though it still bled heavily, it didn't kill him.

Nervously, Lucy picked up the needle and thread. Hoping against hope she was doing the right thing, the blonde slowly sewed her way through Desmond's wound. It actually closed up rather nicely, and, cutting the excess string with scissors, Lucy leaned back and breathed a sigh of relief.

"Help me with these bandages," Lucy called. Rebecca came padding back, setting the prepared syringe down on the bed she had left minutes before.

The two women wound bandages tightly around the unconscious Assassin's right thigh until there was no more blood.

"All right," Lucy sighed, leaning back again. "Let's do this." She peeled off her gloves and threw them out: Rebecca kept hers on.

Rebecca nodded, then tied a short length of rope around Lucy's upper arm. Picking up the syringe and making sure it was totally empty, the brunette inserted the sharp needle into her friend's inner arm.

Breathing in and out deeply, Lucy leaned her head back. She hated needles. Looking back, she watched as Rebecca injected her friend's blood into Desmond—only a syringe's worth.

"How many times do we need to do this?" Rebecca asked, worried.

"Three or four should be fine," Lucy said, trying to sound confident. She actually had no idea; how much blood did Desmond actually need? She knew that the human body had ten pints of blood, but could survive with as little as five.

_Yeah, three or four should do it. _

And it seemed to be working. Two needlefuls of blood later, Desmond was breathing stronger and his pulse beat with renewed energy.

"Last one," Rebecca muttered, drawing yet more blood from Lucy. The blonde distracted herself by clenching and unclenching her left fist, watching as her blood was pumped into Desmond's left arm, where an IV should've been.

Untying the rope from her arm, Lucy noticed Desmond already looked a lot better; colour was returning to his face. She snatched one of the Band-Aids from the first aid kit and, ripping it open, smoothed it over the needle mark on her arm. Fervently hoping the man in front of her didn't have any type of disease, Lucy poured alcohol and swabbed it lightly on Desmond's wound. In doing this, she had to lean over him - the wall was to his left - and she couldn't help thinking about what had happened on the roof.

Was she wrong to shoot him down like that? It seemed so cruel, letting him kiss her and then telling him she had been - what was it? - acting on the moment.

"Bitch," Lucy hissed to herself as she swabbed alcohol slowly on Desmond's wound, then stood back up, reflecting as she peeled open another Band-Aid.

She_ was _a bitch. She remembered the look of pain and humiliation on Desmond's face as she'd told him, essentially, how much of idiot he was. Lucy closed her eyes against her shame, then reopened them to look at Desmond's still-pale face. His eyes had started moving against his eyelids—he wasn't unconscious anymore, just sleeping.

Lucy leaned back over to lay on the Band-Aid.

* * *

As Desmond swam back into awareness, the first thing he noticed was the beautiful smell drifting around him. Then the pain hit - and an additional, smaller one in his left arm - causing his eyes to snap open.

Lucy was leaning over him, her blonde bangs, coming out of their tight bun, hanging down over her face. Focused on his arm, she didn't notice Desmond had woken up until he spoke up.

"Well, this is awkward." He grinned, causing Lucy to gasp loudly and jump back.

"Desmond!" she panted. "Shit, you scared me."

"Fuck," Desmond muttered, feeling the pain again. "What happened?"

"That's what I'd like to know.." Lucy stared at him. "We woke up and you were lying on the ground, unconscious."

Remembering his dream, Desmond shuddered. He didn't want to talk about it. Not yet.

"Shit," he hissed as he moved his hand. "Stop talking and just reset the bone!"

"Ah, he's awake?" Rebecca's voice floated across the room. Desmond turned his head to see her in the far corner, washing something with a water bottle. Dismissing it, vowing to ask questions later, he sat up slowly—the pain in his leg was less harsh.

His legs felt rather cold, and, looking down, Desmond notched that once again he had woken up in this bed with no pants on.

"...Where are my pants?" he asked slowly.

"Uh." Lucy looked rather embarrassed. "I - _we _- had to take them off to give you stitches and bandage your leg."

Desmond felt blood rushing to his face, realizing he was sitting half-naked in front of the woman he had kissed. Taking a deep breath, he wiped the emotion off his face - a trick he'd learned from Altaïr - and nodded. Propping himself up with his left arm, he looked at Lucy pointedly, deliberately moving his right hand so she'd notice it.

Lucy took a deep breath. "Right." Turning around, she called out to her friend. "Hey Becca, do that later, I'm going to need some help. Just in case, you know."

The brunette nodded and set down the item she had been cleaning—a syringe. Desmond was curious, but asked no questions as he was ordered to swing his legs over the side of the bed and plant his feet on the floor.

"Okay, this is going to hurt," Lucy warned.

"I know," Desmond scoffed. "How many times do you think—" He let out a muffled cry of pain as Lucy pushed - hard - on one of his broken fingers.

"Oh, just shut up." Lucy smiled wryly. "No matter how much it happens, it still hurts every time." Desmond nodded, clamping his mouth shut.

"Now..." Lucy muttered, gently examining his hand. Quickly, she jerked out and reset his broken bone—the proximal phalange **(1) **on his index finger. Desmond couldn't help but let out a strangled scream, jerking his hand away.

"None of that," Lucy chided, taking it back. She wrapped non-adhesive gauze around his index finger, tightly, so the bone could mend together in the right spots, securing it with a small piece of duct tape.

Desmond raised his eyebrows at the duct tape, to which Lucy shrugged. "It's all we have," she said, practically reading his mind. "And you have to try not to move your fingers for the next couple weeks," she warned. "Last thing we need is more injury."

Desmond nodded obediently, too distracted by what was to come—the resetting of two more bones.

"Okay, on three," Lucy encouraged. "One, two—" She jerked the bone back into place. After Desmond's surprised yell, she leaned back and said "Three."

"Fucking dirty trick," Desmond muttered, but allowed his ring finger to be bandaged.

"Okay, this one's going to be tricky." Lucy held up Desmond's hand, examining his middle finger. "It's broken really near your third knuckle. I might have to do it more than once to get it right."

The middle finger was the one that hurt the most. It throbbed in time with his heart, making it feel like the end of his finger had its own pulse.

"Ready?" Lucy looked up at him.

Taking a deep breath, Desmond replied, "As I'll ever be," and steeled himself.

Lucy yanked on his finger. Desmond howled in pain, his cries echoing off the hard stone walls, and instinctively pulled his hand back—the hand that Lucy was still clutching.

Desmond's middle finger gave a loud popping sound as he yanked it away while Lucy was still holding on to it. It hurt more than anything he'd ever felt in his entire life—more than splitting his lip open, more than the feel of that psycho's knife in his leg, more even than breaking his hand in the first place. Desmond screamed harshly, cradling his hand to his chest—Lucy had let go of it like it was made of burning metal when he'd screamed.

"Fuck," Lucy cursed. "Desmond, I need to see it; I think your finger just dislocated."

"My finger _what_?" Desmond shrieked, the beginnings of panic creeping up on his brain.

"Calm down," Rebecca urged, stealing a quick glance at her friend.

"It hurts," Desmond moaned. He knew he probably looked and sounded ridiculous - a full-grown man, sitting in his underwear, complaining about how much his finger hurt - but he didn't care; it was true. He'd rather have his finger amputated than feel the pain of having it popped back into place.

"Let me just see," Lucy coaxed, touching his hand lightly. Desmond slowly allowed her to handle it carefully, stroking his bent and swollen finger. Then, without warning, she wrenched it toward her, to the side, then back into its socket. Desmond howled, the cry breaking off at the end into sobs. Lucy quickly grabbed back ahold of his hand so he couldn't pull away, bandaged it similarly to his other two fingers, then wrapped all three in gauze together so he couldn't move them, securing the whole thing with more duct tape.

"Sorry," Lucy said genuinely. "It needed to be done."

"Doesn't make it hurt any less," Desmond whispered, keeping his hand close, then, louder: "Can I put my pants back on now?"

Lucy nodded, and Desmond stood up slowly, relieved at the not-so-sharp pains shooting up his leg—at least he could stand. Rebecca handed him a new pair of jeans - where she got them, he didn't know, and didn't really care - then went off to finish cleaning her syringe.

Desmond gingerly put his legs through the leg holes in the jeans, then pulled them up to his thighs with just his left hand. Because most of the main fingers on his other hand were bandaged and broken, he had to use just the thumb on his right hand. After much struggling, his pants were finally up to his waist. But...

"Fuck," was the only word for it. In order to do up the button on his jeans, Desmond had to use either his index or middle finger: the fingers that were still burning in pain.

Lucy, who had been cleaning up the remnants of a couple Band-Aids, looked over. "Problem?"

"Ah... no," Desmond said lightly. He tried using his thumb and right knuckle to pull the button closer to his left hand, but it wouldn't fit together. Then he attempted to actually use the broken fingers, which generated a hiss of pain from their owner.

"You sure?" Lucy chirped. Desmond looked up and she was smiling, unsuccessfully trying to hide it.

"I can do it," Desmond muttered, but proved himself wrong when he gasped out his pain again.

Lucy wandered over. "Let me?" Then, without waiting for an answer, she crouched down and did up his button and zipper. Desmond, taken by surprise, just stood there, eyes getting wider and wider as her fingers... well, you know. The lights in his head, finally remembering what they were doing, sprang to life and told him - ohmigosh, big surprise - to kill her now—oh God the time is just right, take her completely by surprise. Desmond could practically see the perfect spot to do it... shit, what was he _doing_? He growled softly at the voices. _Shut up, shut up. _

"There." She stood up, finished. A silence settled over the two of them as they thought about what had just happened.

"Um, thanks," Desmond muttered.

Lucy looked like she wanted to say something, but just nodded and turned away, picking up the garbage she had been sweeping up and tossing it in the trash. "Take off your shirt" she said, turning back to Desmond.

"Wait, what?" Desmond was taken aback.

The blonde held up the box of pins and smiled. "To make a sling. I can do it with a t-shirt."

"Oh, right." Desmond cursed himself for the _othe_r reasons he'd thought Lucy wanted him to take his shirt off. Undoing his sweater zipper and taking it off, he laid it on the bed, then managed to peel off his black t-shirt with one hand. Standing like an idiot, shirtless, with his shirt clutched in his left hand, he asked, "Now what?"

Lucy took the shirt from him. "You can put your sweater back on," she replied, and he obeyed, doing it up to his neck again. The zipper was cold against his bare skin.

"Now, let's see if I can still do this right," Lucy muttered, snapping open the small plastic box of safety pins.

Five minutes later, Desmond had a successful sling around his right shoulder, keeping his hand up close to his torso.

Lucy stretched. "Well, you might as well go back to sleep; I'm still on night shift so-"

"No," Desmond cut her off. "You go to bed, I'll take over." He didn't want to go back to sleep—just in case.

"You sure?"

He nodded. "I couldn't sleep even if I wanted to." And it was the truth; he was afraid of what might happen in his dreams. "Could you just put my blade on for me?" he asked, holding out his left arm. Desmond always took off his blade and his watch before he went to bed, and stowed them under his cot.

"You'll be fine with your broken hand?" Lucy asked as she was doing up the straps on Desmond's hidden blade.

"Of course," Desmond reassured her. "I've trained with just one hand before."

Finishing the last buckle, the blonde looked up at him from under her bangs. "You mean _Ezio's _trained with one hand before." She stressed the word Ezio firmly.

"...Right. I know that."

"Lucy?" Rebecca came back from cleaning. "I wiped this whole thing down with water and disinfectant. Where do you want me to put it?" she asked, holding up the syringe.

"We'll have to throw it out," Lucy answered, turning her back in Desmond. "It's not safe for use except for in emergency; put it back in the kit with the cover on and I'll buy more syringes when I go out again." Rebecca nodded and, kneeling, replaced the plastic needle cover and set the syringe back in its box.

"You can go back to sleep too, Rebecca," Desmond told her. "I'm taking the rest of the night watch." He actually had no idea if it was actually night, or they were just calling it that because that's when they slept. He didn't know the time or even the date; his watch was still under his bed, unable to be worn on a slung hand.

Rebecca smiled warmly. "Thanks, Desmond."

"Now wake me if anything happens, okay?" Lucy said firmly, turning back to Desmond.

He nodded. "I will."

* * *

**1 - I looked that up 8D No one will know what that bone is—it's the one closest to your palm. **

**Another chapter where nothing happens D: I can only torture Desmond so many times, though. I'm starting to feel bad for him O_o Also, the reason why there hasn't been a lot of killing it because there's no one TO kill. I can't just randomly kill off the last person (and we all know who it is); it has to be done at the right time. I know that right time, don't worry :3**


	11. XI

_A person often meets his destiny on the road he took to avoid it.  
__-_**Jean de la Fontaine**

* * *

Rebecca suspected there were things Lucy wasn't telling her. The blonde had been acting pretty strange lately, ever since Shaun died.

Shaun. Desmond had told them what had happened when he'd died, but Rebecca didn't believe it, couldn't believe it. Lights can't think for themselves, they can't plan, they can't want to hurt anyone, they're _lights_. Desmond told her that they wanted him to kill Lucy because she was 'in the way', but he wouldn't, so they killed Shaun as a warning. A fucking _warning_! Shaun was a person, a living breathing human being, not an item to be bargained with!

Rebecca could feel her blood boiling under the sheets as she tried, unsuccessfully, to sleep. Shaun was dead because of Desmond! The cowardly Assassin who was only useful because of his DNA, the man who Abstergo locked up and who didn't even _try_to escape. And now Shaun, their only historian, was dead.

_You're not really mad because he was your best _historian, a part inside of her whispered. _You _loved_ him._

All right, so _maybe_ she had had _small _feelings for him. That didn't make what Desmond did any less terrible!

_Calm down. _Rebecca breathed deeply.

And to top it all off, Desmond had the nerve to go and get himself stabbed and not tell them _anything_. He probably went outside and got in a fight with one of those obnoxious Italians living in Monteriggioni, then came back and went back to bed like nothing had happened. A couple hours later, he woke up to find himself bleeding out and tried to wake Lucy. Self-centered, selfish _idiot_.

Rebecca laughed silently at herself; she was starting to sound like Shaun. Then she caught herself. No one would ever sound like Shaun again, because he was dead. Ripped apart by a bear that he could even see.

Unable to stop herself, Rebecca replayed the scene in her mind. She'd been in the Sanctuary, working on Baby, when Lucy came sprinting down the stairs, tears on her face and blood on her knees, and dragged her friend upstairs without saying a word, leaving it all to sight.

And so it was. Rebecca had seen blood, and a stranger, someone she didn't recognize, torn to pieces.

Without realizing it, despite being wide awake only seconds earlier, Rebecca's eyelids drooped, and she fell asleep.

* * *

Desmond nearly fell of his chair as he slumped over. Jerking awake, he shook himself and stood, trying to outpace the tiredness that was overwhelming him. But his stiff and injured leg cried out in pain, forcing him to sit down again. Almost immediately, he felt restless again, needing to know the time.

Desmond limped over to his bed and retrieved the watch from under the cot. It read 00:47, 8. It was October. Seventy-five days until the Templar satellite launch, six days since he'd started seeing visions, and four days since Shaun died. And yet, it all seemed so long ago.

Rebecca shifted in her sleep.

* * *

The first thing Rebecca noticed was that her feet were cold. She opened her eyes slowly, confused, and the only thing she saw was gray. At first she panicked, thinking she was in some kind of misty fog, but then realized she was in a room, sitting in a simple high-backed chair.

Slowly, wary of any shadows or traps - she _was _an Assassin - Rebecca stood and turned, examining the room she was in.

Four gray walls. On the wall behind her... a door, painted bright red. Rebecca padded forward cautiously, aware of the fact she had no shoes on, and opened it.

The door creaked forward obediently, revealing another identical room - minus the chair - with an identical red door. Again, Rebecca was wary of this door, but it proved just as harmless as the last one, opening on another gray room with another red door.

* * *

Rebecca moaned softly in her sleep and rolled over—again. Desmond looked up - he'd been fiddling with his watch - remembering his none-too-pleasant experience with dreams, and recalling the lights' warning. They could be trying to hurt Rebecca.

Desmond half-stood to wake up Lucy, but then sat down slowly. No. He'd already disturbed Lucy and Rebecca once tonight; he was starting to feel like a burden to both of them. He also didn't want to end up as paranoid as Subject 16 was, followed by the slow descent into madness.

So Desmond sat, and let the two woman sleep (peacefully?).

* * *

Rebecca burst through another red door. This was the fifth room, and again—empty! Nothing but those infuriating doors that led nowhere!

With nowhere else to go, Rebecca strode forward quickly, not bothering to check the door, and nearly ran into it.

This one was locked. The Assassin pulled and twisted frantically on the doorknob, but it wouldn't budge. Impatient from being stuck in this never-ending building, Rebecca tried to kick it down, but only succeeded in hurting her heel—she wasn't wearing shoes.

Desperate and ticked off, Rebecca backed up until she was at the doorway she had just come through, then ran straight at the locked red door, slamming her shoulder into it.

The door didn't open, but her shoulder sure hurt like a bitch. Backing up with tears in her eyes, Rebecca tried once more with her other shoulder.

Rebecca ran into the red door at full force and the lock snapped under her weight, sending her sprawling forward into what she assumed was another empty gray room.

It wasn't empty.

* * *

Rebecca cried out and thrashed in her cot, still asleep. Desmond jumped up, and watched in horror as the sheets that were over her arms and knees began spotting red.

"Fuck, fuck, _fuck_," Desmond hissed, hurrying over and ripping the sheets off.

Rebecca was twisting around where she lay, a scared and pained grimace on her face. Deep cuts had opened up on her lower arms, and the knees of her pants were ripped open, cutting the skin underneath.

"Oh God," Desmond whispered, stepping back, then hurried to wake Lucy.

**_If you had woken her earlier, this wouldn't have happened..._**

* * *

"AAAAAAUUUUHHHHHHHH!" Rebecca's scream was long and loud as she tumbled forward onto intense pain—the floor was covered with broken glass. In her desperation, the brunette had knocked down the door, falling through after it, landing hard on her elbows, lower arms, and most of her upper leg.

Now there were huge shards of glass embedded in her skin, and Rebecca couldn't stand up to escape it; someone had taken her fucking shoes!

Rebecca sobbed, trying to lift an arm, but it was too much pressure on her other arm; she had to put it back down.

This room was the exact same size as the others, had the same gray walls, the same red door, and one single lightbulb attached to the white ceiling. The same—except it was covered from wall to wall in pieces of broken glass that ranged from small shards to pieces as big as her hand.

There was only _one _way out of there if she wanted to survive. Rebecca lay flat and, sobbing and gasping in pain, dragged herself out on her stomach. She could feel every piece of glass slice through her body, through her chest, her midsection, and her legs.

* * *

"Lucy!" Desmond shook her awake. Her eyes snapped open and she sat up.

"It's Rebecca." He didn't need to say any more. Lucy sprang out of her bed, panic in her eyes, and hurried to her friend's side.

Desmond limped after her quickly, fearing what he'd see. The amount of wounds and blood had tripled, spreading to Rebecca's torso as well as her limbs. There were several deep cuts—Desmond could see ribs poking through one on the brunette's side.

Lucy stared for a couple seconds, dumbstruck, then slowly reached out her hand, avoiding any wounds, and shook Rebecca's shoulder. "Becca." No response. The brunette continued to thrash and cry out occasionally.

Scanning her body quickly, eyes wide, Lucy shook her friend's shoulders with both her hands. "Rebecca! Wake up! Oh please, wake up." The last few words were choked out as the blonde began to cry. She sank to her knees and rested her head on the side of the cot, her body racked with sobs.

Desmond stood a couple feet away, unsure of what to do, and desperately hoping that Rebecca would wake up and live. He was almost a hundred percent sure that the lights had something to do with her injuries. If she died... he wouldn't be able to forgive himself.

"Hey," he said, trying to sound hopeful, and kneeled down next to Lucy. "It'll be okay."

She looked up, tears streaking down her face, then took a deep breath and forced a small smile upon her face. "All right."

* * *

_Almost... there... _Rebecca could feel her strength leaving her as she continued to drag herself across the glass room, staining the ground behind her red with her blood. She was about a foot from the door now, and, reaching out her cut and bloody arm, pushed open the red door in front of her. The room it led to was so bright she couldn't even see anything in it.

Weakly, Rebecca heaved her body into the light, barely registering the glass scraping over her skin; she felt so numb.

As she pulled herself forward into the light, Rebecca felt oddly light-headed, like she was leaving her body. Only one phrase echoed around her mind, a clichéd sentence that she'd heard in almost every movie or TV show where someone was dying:

"Don't go into the light!"

* * *

"What do we _do_?" Lucy seemed to be fine now, though she was still panicking around Rebecca. Desmond, frankly, was confused and felt like he didn't know where he belonged in this picture. He wasn't a doctor, and wasn't too fond of blood.

"I don't know... Just, calm down." Desmond laid a hand on the blonde's shoulder as she fussed around her friend.

Rebecca's eyes snapped open and she gasped, breathing rapidly, her eyes flicking around wildly.

"Becca!" Lucy grasped her friend's face in her hands. "Becca, can you hear me?"

As a response, Rebecca's back arched away from the bed, and she cried out, "The glass! It's killing me!" Lucy fell back, letting go of her friend, looking shocked.

"What's she talking about?" she gasped, turning her face toward Desmond. Her eyes looked fearful. "Glass?"

Desmond shook his head. "No idea. We need to hold her down before she hurts herself." He grasped as much of her legs as he could with one hand and pressed them against the bed, Lucy following suit with Rebecca's arms, holding them by the brunette's side.

Trying not to stare at the huge holes in Rebecca's body, Desmond instead looked into Lucy's eyes. She was, oddly, looking at him instead of at the injured Assassin they were holding down. Her eyes were burning like blue fire, tears forgotten.

"Help her," she whispered as her friend bucked and twisted underneath their hands, bleeding on the sheets.

Rebecca's bare left foot caught Desmond under the jaw, and he reeled backwards. Shaking it off, flexing his jaw, he tried to hold both her ankles with his left hand.

"Look." Lucy sounded scared. Desmond's eyes travelled up Rebecca's legs, scanning over the cuts, until they reached her stomach.

There was a large hole near the brunette's belly button, spurting blood—Desmond could see intestines poking through. Reminded of Shaun, he stared wide-eyed as the woman - the _dying _woman - in front of him arched her back again and screamed, hoarser and quieter than before.

"Is she going to die?" Lucy asked fearfully as her friend's struggles grew weaker.

In past situations, Desmond would always be the one to ask those types of questions. He'd always ask Lucy, and she'd say things were going to be fine. Now she was asking him, and he didn't know what to tell her. He looked back up at her, about to say, "I don't know," when something behind her caught his eye. Something bright and floating. And red.

Desmond gasped and stumbled backwards, nearly tripping over his own bed. The light - oh, those _mother fucking _lights - drifted toward him cooly. He almost knew what it was going to say before it said it.

"**We _warned_ you.**"

_Just let me burn  
It's what I deserve_

"Desmond? Desmond!" Lucy was staring at him, fear in her eyes. "What's going on? Is she going to live?"

And then, almost mechanically, knowing what was going to happen, Desmond croaked out, "No."

* * *

**That little part at the beginning is just Rebecca's two cents on what's been happening so far. Fiesty, isn't she? :3**

**Okay, I should shut up. I killed her. Yeah, she's not getting out of this alive.**

**And her dream was based off an episode of Criminal Minds, can't remember what it's called. It's pretty much the same, except the woman in the show got out alive, and it wasn't a dream 8D**


	12. XII

**I have an issue with this. I'm starting to feel like no one AT ALL is reading this story, the story that I think is one of the best I've ever written. I take the time to sit down and write this - these chapters have 2,000+ words in them - and yet no can seem to make the time to comment. Is it really so hard to say something like "I like this" or "Good job"?**

**From chapters VII to XI, I have received NO reviews. Zero, zip, nada. I don't know what is it with you people and M rated stories. They can't be that bad, they're just words..**

**Every time I finish and submit a chapter, my hopeful brain tells me, "THIS will be the time someone reviews, THIS will be the time someone likes your story and tells you about it". But it never is. People just can't seem to find the motivation to write a comment. **

**Speaking of motivation... I'm really losing my desire to write this. I used to love it; I'd do it every day and get so excited about it. But now I'm starting to ask myself what the point is to submitting a story nobody reads. **

**_Please_, just comment, tell me how you like my story and what you think of it.**

* * *

_Give me a reason to stay  
Because I don't want to live in fear  
I can fight the rain, but I can't fight the tears  
Oh, I can fight the fire, but I can't fight the fear  
_**-Three Days Grace**'s No More

* * *

"_What_?" Lucy shrieked. "What do you mean, no?"

Desmond took a deep breath, tears stinging the back of his eyes. "It's the lights. This is the same thing that happened to Shaun; there's nothing we can do. I... I'm sorry."

"No!" Lucy yelled, her voice laced with sorrow. She turned back to Rebecca and desperately tried to wake her again. "Wake up, Becca, wake up!" the blonde sobbed, nudging her dying friend.

Rebecca's eyes focused and her thrashing slowed. "Lucy..?" she breathed.

Lucy nodded, forcing a smile through her tears. "It's me, Becca, I'm here." She grasped the brunette's hand. "How do you feel?"

"It's kind of.. strange." Rebecca turned her face to the ceiling. "I feel like my head is floating away from my body."

Desmond sat down on his cot and put his head in his hands. He knew that feeling—the feeling of weightlessness and the strange floating sensation that came from losing too much blood. He had been saved; the lights never intended for him to die. But Rebecca wasn't getting out of this alive. She would never see the sky again, or feel the sun on her face, the wind on her skin.

"Don't worry, everything'll be fine," Lucy was saying—an empty promise with no meaning behind the words.

Rebecca _hmm_ed, sounding content. "It doesn't hurt anymore."

Lucy nodded, her tears running freely now. "You'll never hurt again," she whispered as Rebecca's eyes closed. The last breath of air escape her, and she was still.

Lucy sobbed quietly, still clutching her friend's hand, and bowed her head.

"Requiescat in pace," Desmond breathed, then was aware of a voice in his head.

"**It was your fault, you know. _You_ were keeping watch, and _you_ stood by and did nothing.**" The same light from before - he knew - was speaking softly into his ear. "**She's _dead _Desmond, and it's your fault. Two people would still be alive if you weren't so stubborn.**"

"And one wouldn't," Desmond hissed back at it, whipping his head around.

"**You value _her_ life over two other innocents?**" The light sounded surprised—mock surprise. It was trying to wind him up, make him feel guiltier than he already was.

"No," Desmond growled. "But I wasn't the one that killed those two innocents. It's not on _my_ conscience."

"**I wouldn't be too sure about that,**" the light murmured, sounding almost... sad. Then it was gone, vanishing into thin air.

Desmond stood slowly. He limped over to where Lucy was kneeling, and crouched down next to her, careful not to jar his wound. Gently, he gripped her hand and unclenched it from Rebecca's still warm ones. He stood up Lucy, grasping one of her shoulders, then wrapped his left arm around her. She was still crying, her body shaking with sobs, and pushed herself closer to his warmth and comfort.

"We have to go," he whispered.

Lucy looked up at him, confused. "...Go?"

"Yes." Desmond looked toward the entrance. "We need to get out of here before something even worse happens."

Suddenly, Lucy pushed him away, and Desmond staggered backwards, shocked. "Something _worse_?" she shouted, fire in her eyes. "The only friend I've known since becoming an Assassin is dead, and you think something worse will happen? Like what?" she screamed.

Desmond didn't know how to respond. He kept silent, a shocked expression on his face and eyes wide.

"Like _what_?" Lucy repeated, even louder and with more venom. When Desmond didn't answer, she closed the few steps between them and slapped him, hard, then yanked her hand back, instantly regretting what she'd done.

"Oh God Desmond, I'm sorry.." she stammered out.

"Like you getting hurt," Desmond said softly. A guilty look crossed the blonde's face as his words sunk in.

"Oh, Desmond..." she whispered. "It was never about me. It's much more than that; _you_ need to stay alive, _you_ need to find us that Apple." Her voice grew firmer with every word.

"But _how_?" Desmond moaned, turning away and pacing a few steps. "Do you know how to work the Animus on someone with a broken hand?"

Lucy shook her head. "Do you pay attention at all? It was never your physical condition; you could be in a _coma_ and still be able to control Ezio."

Desmond owed Lucy, and he knew it; he was in partial fault for two people's death—one of them her best friend. No matter how much he told himself that, he still didn't want to go into the Animus. He'd only been in the thing twice in the past week, where normally he would be in for a few hours a day.

"Fuck," he breathed, then louder: "Where's that memory I found? What's it of?"

"I don't know," Lucy said quietly - maybe she was quiet because of what had just happened, or because she didn't see the need to talk louder - turning back towards the Animus—and Rebecca's computer. The blonde took a sharp breath when she looked at it, but then strode towards the station. Without sitting down, she stroked a few keys and read the screen, while Desmond paced, rubbing the back of his neck.

"Insufficient data," Lucy whispered, then cursed. "I can't know what the memory is about until you actually get in this machine and access it."

"But what about...?" Desmond motioned to Rebecca solemnly.

Lucy sighed deeply. "I just.. don't know," she said softy, re-crossing the room to kneel next to her friend.

"We could... find another hay stack?" Desmond suggested gently.

"No." Lucy whipped her head round, looking angry, but then her expression softened and she turned her face back towards Rebecca. "She hates fire. Says it's too destructive."

Desmond didn't have the heart to tell her that she should talk in past tense. "We could bury her under the tree in the courtyard... but we haven't any shovels..." He looked around for anything useful.

"Actually..." Lucy raised her head. "I _think_ some were bought in case of some kind of emergency." With that, she stood to go look.

Desmond sat down heavily on his cot, wondering but not asking what kind of emergency would require _shovels_ of all things. Rebecca's open wounds, still bleeding, were making him unsettled, so he stood again and, picking her sheet up off the ground, laid it gently over her body, smoothing out the fabric with his left hand. He was starting to guess how Malik would feel with only one arm—Desmond would be bitter too if he had to live the rest of his life like this.

"Here it is," Lucy announced softly, appearing with a large shovel. It looked heavy.

"Oh, fuck this," Desmond growled, and unclipped his sling from around his shoulder, tossing the shirt on his bed.

"What are you _doing_?" Lucy was staring at him wide-eyed.

"You think I'm going to make you carry your friend all the way up those stairs while I follow like some useless idiot? Not a chance." Desmond didn't doubt that Lucy would be able to carry Rebecca, but he wasn't going to make her do that.

"No, I'll do it, you'll just mess up your fingers..."

"I'll just be carrying her with my _arms_." Sticking out his arms, Desmond demonstrated the baby-like hold. "See?" Then he bent down and lifted Rebecca, the sheet still obstructing her body. Though he jostled his hand a couple times and wanted to cry out, the Assassin held it back, not wanting to give Lucy any reason to doubt him.

The two travelled up the stairs in silence, both lost in their own thoughts. A mournful procession.

Desmond reached the top first, emerging into the moonlight. A few clouds scurried across the black sky, making little dark shadows across the stone. He breathed in the night air, feeling its chill in his lungs. It often got cold at night in Italy, even if it was hot during the day.

Without waiting, Desmond walked out into the Villa courtyard, realizing for the first time that he had never put his shoes back on; he was still wearing just socks.

"I'm digging," Lucy was saying as she appeared out of the darkness of the tunnel. "No arguments." Desmond wasn't about to argue; he doubted he could even hold a shovel, much less dig a six-foot deep hole.

He followed Lucy as she took the lead toward the courtyard. She chose the tree closest to them, and immediately began digging a hole in the grass. The rain from the weekend had softened the ground substantially; Desmond didn't feel too guilty about making Lucy do all the work.

Instead, he sat down under the tree where he could watch, Rebecca's body cradled in his lap. He really hoped any lights weren't going to decide to show up now—this was _his_ private time, _his_ time of mourning.

What was he thinking...? Rebecca had been Lucy's best friend, and here Desmond had only known her for less than a month!

_God of mine, am I lost in your eyes?_

Desmond shook his head roughly to clear his thoughts. It didn't really matter. In front of him, Lucy diligently continued to dig. The scraping of the shovel annoyed him.

"**Then _make_ her be quiet. Silence her once and for all,**" a soft voice echoed inside his head. Desmond shook himself again, trying to stop the lights' influence on him.

"**_Think_ about it,**" the voice continued. "**You wouldn't have to worry any more. You wouldn't have to lay awake at night, wondering when your next vision or nightmare will be. _We will leave you alone._**"

The idea did seem like a tempting one. A full night's sleep, no more nightmares to keep him awake...

But then what would he wake up to? An empty stone room, his voice echoing off the bare walls when he tried to call out for someone, anyone, to ease his loneliness.

_Go fuck yourself,_ he growled at the voice.

"**You say that _every_ time. But we can feel you warming up to our ideas, Desmond. We know you long for your sanity back. Take this for example.**" A bloody, deformed man appeared next to him. Desmond scrabbled back, horrified.

The man's body had been twisted around at the spine, leaving his legs and feet facing out backwards and his arms and face remaining forward. Unable to walk, he dragged himself along on the ground, moaning, blood rushing from his midsection.

"**I can make him go away if you do what we ask,**" the light stated, and just like that, the man turned to ashes.

"**Or I can make it even more terrifying if you continue to refuse us,**"

The man was back, but he had tripled in size and now seemed to be in full control of his body. He towered over Desmond, his toes pointing the opposite direction, and reached down towards him, a menacing look on his twisted face. Desmond could see bone sticking out his side.

Desmond whimpered, terrified, but was unable to move—he was frozen in place, whether from fear or because of the lights, he didn't know.

"**Remember this,**" the light went on. "**You do what we ask, we leave you alone. But if not, we manipulate your mind and force you to go insane. You will end up killing yourself.**" There was no doubt in its voice.

"**Live or die, make your choice,**" the light whispered menacingly, then the man turned to ash again and Desmond's head was silent.

He sat panting for a few moments, heart pounding in fear, and thinking about what the light had just said.

"There." Desmond was jolted back to reality as Lucy called out from the hole she had finished. A large pile of dirt lay next to it. "Desmond? Come here."

Desmond stood at the rim of the hole, Rebecca clutched close to his body.

"Pass her down." Lucy held out her arms. Gently, Desmond kneeled and lowered the body in his arms down to the blonde. His leg and hand were throbbing with pain, but he didn't care. He deserved it; he had actually _considered_ harming Lucy.

Lucy climbed out of the hole. "This is the best I can do." She motioned downwards, where Rebecca lay at the bottom of her grave, the sheet draped over her.

"It's enough," Desmond muttered.

"Do... do you want to say something?" Lucy asked softly. Desmond shook his head. The guilt was still clawing at his heart, and he doubted he would be able to say anything before he either broke down or snapped. So Lucy spoke.

"I met Rebecca, I don't know, maybe ten years ago?" Lucy began, her voice already thick with emotion. "Seven of those years we spent apart." She looked as if she was fighting back tears. "She... she was one of the best friends I've ever had. I could tell her anything, even—" She stalled again, looking slightly confused, then shot a quick glance at Desmond and continued.

"We always had so much in common; I felt like... like she was my sister." Lucy stopped, holding back a sob. Then she bowed her head and solemnly began replacing the dirt on top of Rebecca. The soil hit the body at the bottom with loud thuds; Lucy cried the whole time.

Feeling useless again, Desmond unclicked his blade and scratched an inscription onto the tree over the grave.

_Rebecca  
1984-2012  
Requiescat in pace_

It wasn't the neatest, but Desmond hoped it would stay there for as long as it could.

"Her middle name is Eve," a soft voice whispered behind him. Desmond turned to see Lucy giving him a mournful look. Wiping tears away, she continued: "She always loved it."

Desmond nodded and added a few words to his inscription. It now read _Rebecca Eve Crane_.

Turning back, Desmond saw Lucy had finished with the shovel. The earth in front of the tree was churned up and dark, reminding the world of what lay under it.


	13. XIII

**Espent1004:**** Thanks so much :) I really try to put as much effort as I can into this story.**

* * *

_A thing is not necessarily true because a man dies for it.  
-_**Oscar Wilde **

* * *

The two Assassins left the grave and travelled down the stairs just as silent as they had gone up. Desmond knew he needed to go back inside the Animus... no matter how scared he might be. It was never about him.

"I'm ready to go back in," Desmond said slowly just as he reached the Sanctuary.

Lucy looked up, having arrived before him, surprised. "Are you _sure_? I was ready to start using that speech I had prepared a month ago..." She stopped.

A month ago. When Desmond had first arrived in the Assassin hideout. His mind flashed back to the moment he'd emerged out of Lucy's trunk after the grueling, uncomfortable ride. He'd agreed to help the Assassins right away, surprising Lucy.

"No need," Desmond said, his mind back in the present. He knew they were both thinking the same thing. _A month ago. When everyone was still alive._

"Okay," Lucy agreed. "I'll get it ready. Strap yourself in."

* * *

As soon as Desmond looked at his map, he knew where he was going. The icon was of a black-and-white inverted Apple outline, encased in its usual black-outlined diamond. Desmond followed the pulsing shape on his map, somewhat fearful for what lay ahead.

_Verità_

That was all. No description, no image, just the title. Uneasy, Desmond accepted.

The world continued turning. Desmond looked at his map. There were no unusual icons that had anything to do with his mission, just the usual guild challenges or shops.

Ezio spun around, standing in the middle of a street in Rome, looking for anything useful. People gave him odd looks as he jogged around, but he could care less.

_Maybe on a roof?_Desmond wondered. He climbed up to the top of his recently acquired Assassin tower and looked. It was late evening, the sun burning red as it sank below the horizon. But still nothing.

The sun looked somewhat familiar. Desmond tried staring at it, but it hurt even his eyes. Then, suddenly, it clicked.

The sun sprang out from under the horizon and detached itself from the sky. It was an enormous light. Ezio fell back in shock and landed on his rear end on the rooftop, nearly slipping off the side.

_What the hell!_Desmond tried to scream at it, doubting it could hear him. The huge red light swooped down toward him, its glow burning Desmond's retinas.

_Desmond!_ The shocked voice of Lucy echoed around him. _What's going on?_

_I... don't... know...!_Desmond managed, trying not to be blinded. He tried to execute a leap of faith of the building, but as he was poised on the wooden ledge, the light spoke.

"**Peace.**" Its voice was deep and thunderous, and it echoed all around him, yet it sounded different from the other lights'.

_Peace?_ Desmond howled at it, crouching. _Fuck you!_

_So cry three tears for me_

The light spoke again. It said it would tell him _la verità_: the truth. And it did.

* * *

Desmond sat up, pulling in huge lungfuls of air. He _knew_now.

"What happened?" Lucy was on him in an instant. "When it started talking, my video feed blacked out; I couldn't see or hear anything."

Desmond looked up at her. "I know where the Apple is."


	14. XIV

**Oh im bored: Thank you so much :) Personally, I think there's far too many light and fluffy stories about this game. It's rated M, for goodness sake! Make something out of it :3**

**Also, big thank yous to:  
-Alyc for adding this story to their favourites  
-thetrueking for the author alert  
-and edd-ot for adding this story and myself to their favourites, and for the author alert  
****Thanks guys :)**

* * *

_We can never turn back the pages of time, though we may wish to relive a happy moment, or say goodbye just one last time, we never can, because the sands of time continue to fall, and we can't turn the hourglass over.  
_-**Anonymous**

* * *

"**I will tell you la verità**," the star-sized, blazing light had said. Despite how different it was, Desmond wasn't sure if he could believe it. There was no reason for any of the lights to be helping him with anything that didn't involve murder.

That's why he suspected a trap. Something laid out, some kind of mental test that would drive him insane.

"They said.." Desmond began hesitantly. "They said Ezio hid it. _Here_. Somewhere in this Villa." He gestured to the walls around him.

Lucy furrowed her brow and began pacing, leaving Desmond to unstrap himself from the Animus. He stood slowly, Rebecca's reminders ringing in his mind.

"That doesn't make sense..." Lucy said, stopping and turning toward the other Assassin. "Ezio wouldn't hide it here, would he? He knew that anyone could come here and start snooping around."

Desmond nodded. The more he heard, the more it made sense that the light was lying. And yet still...

"Shouldn't we check, just to be sure?" he asked. "You know, like just look around the property."

Lucy raised an eyebrow. "Why the sudden change of heart? I thought you hated these things."

Desmond shook his head. "I don't know. It said it would tell me la verità—it sounded truthful."

"So because it can speak Italian now means it's not still trying to kill me?" the blonde fired back, sudden venom in her voice—and fear in her eyes.

"Lucy..." Desmond stepped toward her. "I'm sorry. I know you're scared—I am too. But I just want to _check_."

Lucy sighed. "All right—I can't stop you, I guess. Just _be careful_, okay?" She turned her blue eyes toward him, then lowered them and stepped around him to fiddle with the Animus.

Desmond had been hopeful that Lucy might've gone with him to look, but obviously she was still too wary. So without another word, he jogged out into the open air.

* * *

All the doors were locked. Every single wooden door was barred shut and impenetrable, which surprised Desmond because they were, well... wood. The fibers should've long disintegrated.

Desmond touched the hard door again. It felt like oak—extremely solid and dense. He gave it an experimental push. Nothing; it didn't even budge.

Frustrated now - why had they said inside the Villa when it's all locked? - Desmond shoved his shoulder against the wood. Still no movement. Fed up, he backed up a step and looked at the door, pondering what to do. He couldn't exactly kick the door down with his leg, and he'd put his sling back on. He stood there for a while and thought, then gave up. There was probably nothing in the building anyway.

* * *

Lucy heard Desmond's footsteps receding, and exhaled, visibly deflating. She didn't know what to do, didn't even know if going after the Apple was the right thing to do anymore. Two Assassins, two _friends_, were dead! And Lucy couldn't help thinking it was Desmond's fault. Of course the lights and what they did to people were real - she'd seen it for herself - but somehow, in the back of her mind, she knew that if Desmond was just a little different, if he'd changed just a bit, none of this could've happened. It didn't make much sense, but hey, neither did the situation they were in.

"Lucy..." A female voice echoed behind her. The blonde's head shot up. She _knew _that voice!

It was Rebecca... and yet it couldn't be. She was dead. And when Lucy looked, she knew she was right.

A broken up corpse of a person stood in front of her, caked in dried blood and dirt. Wounds were open everywhere on her body, and her skin had already turned a grayish colour, even after only a few hours. But to Lucy, it was the thing that she wanted to see most.

"Rebecca?" she breathed, taking a step forward. The corpse stood normally, despite being... well, dead. The strange thing was it wasn't breathing at all, just stood there, eerily still and silent.

Lucy didn't care, though. She had her friend back. She saw past the flesh wounds, the blood, and the already-decomposing skin. All she saw was Rebecca's kind green eyes, the small smile on her face that looked just like it always did.

"Oh..." Lucy whispered, her eyes brimming with tears. All thoughts of Abstergo, the Assassins, even Desmond, flew from her mind and disappeared into oblivion.

"I'm back." Rebecca's smile grew wider. There was something off about it, and an unusual glint gleamed in her emerald eyes, but Lucy didn't notice. She practically jumped forward to embrace her friend, blind to her differences.

The corpse returned the hug, rubbing her back soothingly. "It's all right," she murmured.

Lucy had started crying, sobbing into the cold gray flesh. "I don't know what to do," she breathed into the brunette's ear.

Rebecca broke the hug first, but didn't let go. She held Lucy half a foot away from her face, looking into her watery blue eyes with calm green ones. The cold hands were on the other woman's waist, Lucy's on her shoulders. They looked like they were... dancing, without movement.

Lucy stared into her best friend's eyes, radiating happiness. "I was so scared.."

A clammy finger was placed on her lips. It tasted like earth.

"Shhh," Rebecca whispered soothingly, then removed her hand and placed it on the back of the blonde hair.

Lucy felt herself leaning forward - _why _was she leaning forward? - until her lips found Rebecca's pale ones.

* * *

"Hey, Lucy, I-" Desmond stopped like he'd been punched in the stomach as he rounded the corner into the Sanctuary.

There, six feet in front of him, Lucy was passionately kissing... another _woman_?

Desmond stood there and gaped, his mouth open like a fish, left arm hanging limply by his side. The other woman had unusually pale skin, stained brown in some places and red in others. All Desmond could see from his angle was the side of her face, which didn't help him much. But he recognized the familiar shaded jumpsuit.

"What the—what the _fuck_!" Desmond gasped. Lucy whirled toward him, earth and blood matted around her lips. The brunette saw him and hissed - literally hissed, like a cat - her eyes blazing furiously.

Lucy just stared, speechless like he'd been earlier, cheeks dusted red.

Seeing her face now, there was no doubt the pale, bloody woman was Rebecca, somehow back from the dead.

"See what he does," Rebecca growled menacingly, voice lowered an octave from rage. "He's trying to take you away from me. From your best friend."

"Lucy! She's _dead_." Desmond gasped desperately. "Can't you see the blood?"

Lucy looked back and forth from both Assassins, then took a step back, away from Desmond. "Shut up," she whispered.

"It's obviously the lights that are doing-"

"SHUT _UP_!" Lucy screeched, looking confused and fearful. "I'm sick and tired of your stupid lights! Now leave us alone!"

Now it was Desmond's turn to be speechless. He stared, hurt and afraid, as Lucy took another step away from him. Rebecca wrapped a comforting arm around her friend, burning through Desmond with her intense gaze as she glared at him.

"What the.. This is just _ridiculous_!" Desmond spat. "Don't you remember? Five-" He checked his watch. 6:58. "-no, six hours ago, she was dying! We buried her!"

Lucy was still ignoring him, purposely turning her face away from him, into Rebecca.

"She doesn't need you any more," Rebecca hissed.

Two beeps issued from Desmond's watch, letting him know that it was a new hour—7 am. The corpse perked up at this. Her eyes flashed.

"I have to go," she whispered to Lucy. The blonde looked up, startled.

Rebecca gently detached herself and slowly began walking toward the door. Desmond wasted no time in stepping out of her way, glad to have her gone.

"What..." Lucy's eyes were filling with tears. "Becca, no! Don't leave me..."

Rebecca stopped and turned, extending an arm to her friend. "Come with me," she breathed. That meant only one thing.

"_No_!" Desmond roared, stepping between the two woman, facing the corpse. "You won't take her!"

Green eyes blazed as Rebecca glared at him. "And what are _you _going to do about it?" she mocked, obviously referring to his handicaps.

Desmond darted forward, surprisingly fast despite his injured leg, and swiped his hidden blade across Rebecca's throat, slicing deep. He wasn't sure if it would actually do anything - she was dead, after all. Could he kill her? - but the corpse clutched at her throat, blood welling up from under the cut.

_Burning so good,  
Sing me this song_

Desmond heard Lucy's gasp from behind him, and turned just in time to catch her with his arm and drag her back. Lucy fought against him, screaming bloody murder as Rebecca's eyes grew wide and a gurgling noise escaped her gaping mouth.

"Let me go!" Lucy shrieked, struggling furiously. Desmond clenched his teeth and tightened his grip around her—it was hard keeping her restrained with only one arm.

As Rebecca fell to her knees, slumping to the side, Lucy's screams echoed harshly against the stone walls. She struggled further, then half turned around and slammed her fist into Desmond's right thigh.

Pain shot like lightning through Desmond's body, and he cried out, involuntarily loosening his grip. Lucy took her chance and darted out from under his arms, catching Rebecca before the corpse fell over.

Blinded by pain, Desmond gasped like a fish, his heart pounding erratically. He fell forward to land on his knees, head spinning.

"No, no, no," Lucy moaned, seeing the wound on her friend's neck. Rebecca was cradled in the blonde's arms on the hard stone floor, blood spurting from her throat.

"Join... me," the corpse choked out, reaching her hand up weakly.

"Join you? Join you _how_?" Lucy asked desperately. But Rebecca's body began to seize as she went into her death throes.

"Becca, no!" the blonde sobbed as the green eyes lost their light. Then, suddenly it clicked.

Lucy's head shot up and whipped around to Desmond. "Join..." she breathed. The man was on his knees, supporting himself with his left hand, head down and breathing hard. His right arm was still slung up.

Gently lowering Rebecca's body, Lucy strode over to Desmond, yanking his left hand up by the wrist. He was still dazed, and looked confused.

Lucy fingered the blade on Desmond's wrist, and pushed his hand back so it slid out of its sheath.

Desmond stared up at Lucy with foggy eyes. He just couldn't understand why she had his wrist, why she was pulling his hand back..

Then he saw it. The blade, rising from its housing like some demonic angel. Lucy pulled it closer to her neck, tilting her head back to expose her throat.

_No..._

Desmond roared his protest, then yanked his hand back. Lucy obviously wasn't expecting him to react, so his wrist slid easily out of her grasp.

"No!" Lucy screamed, grasping desperately for his arm.

"Behind you! Look," Desmond shouted desperately. Lucy fell for it and turned around.

There was nothing left of Rebecca but ash. This was apparently too much for Lucy; she moaned and sank to her knees, burying her face in her hands. Desmond could hear her sobbing. He sat there for a bit, stunned and hurting, trying to comprehend what had just happened, until Lucy raised her head.

"I'm sorry..." she whispered. "I remember everything that happened now. I just wanted her back so much.."

"It's okay," was all Desmond could say, still in shock.

"It was the lights, wasn't it?"

Desmond nodded. "Only they could do that. And I think they're trying a different strategy—forcing you to kill yourself."

Lucy took a shaky breath. "It just seemed like the only thing to do... she asked me to join her."

Desmond tried pressing again. "Lucy, we _need _to get out of here. You will die eventually if we stay, either from yourself or because of me."

"But... but what about the Apple?" Lucy looked over at the Animus, standing forebodingly in the centre of the room.

"Two Assassins are _dead_!" Desmond was shocked she still cared about the Apple. "Do you really think that matters any more?"

"We only have eighty-one days, Desmond!" Lucy spat, suddenly venomous. "_Eighty-one days _until Abstergo controls everything! We can't just throw all that away!"

"You don't understand," Desmond growled, frustrated by her stubbornness. "You are going to _die _if we don't move!"

"I don't care!" Lucy yelled, the tears still fresh on her face. "I just don't care any more. The only thing that's familiar in my life since any of this started happening is the Animus. If that's taken away from me, I won't be _me _any more."

"You've got to be _kidding_ me." Desmond's voice rose. "So this isn't about staying alive, it's some fucking self-righteous quest to keep your personality? How about you try holding on to your sanity by a thread, and you're _this close _to slipping into madness, and every day you're getting closer and closer to killing people!" He stopped, aware of how loud he was speaking. Lucy was staring at him like he'd grown another head; surprised, horrified, and... afraid.

"Okay," she whispered, eyes wide. "We'll go."

* * *

**Often while I'm writing this, I like to think what people who look at the last chapter without reading any other parts of the story think. Right about now, they'd probably be thinking "WTF is this? No reading for me ." On a related note, Desmond's probably not going to want to kiss Lucy again :3**

**Okay seriously, I looked and looked and I couldn't find a good picture that shows Rebecca's eye colour. I THINK I saw one where it was green, so I went with it. Just correct me if I'm wrong.**


	15. XV

**Ginger Katt: Haha, funny joke... this story is so OOC I'm scared of being arrested D: But thanks for reading and reviewing anyway!  
Oh im bored: Pff, that's the point. I'm trying to keep you guessing :3 Thanks for the review!  
SaneFangirl: Scary is what I do, get used to it 8D Thanks for reading this, even though it wasn't what you were looking for! I'll try and make it exciting for you :P**

**Also, hugs for:  
-edd-ot, for adding this story to their alert  
-Ginger Katt, for adding this story to their alert  
-Liberius, for adding this story to their favourites  
-and Oh im bored, for adding this story to their favourites**

* * *

_To fly, we must have resistance.  
_**-Maya Lin**

* * *

They packed in silence, one or two occasional words exchanged when one needed something. Lucy was in charge of making sure the Animus was packed securely. Desmond had opted on leaving it - leaving _everything _- behind, but the blonde insisted on re-packing everything and bringing it with them, wherever they were going. It still hadn't been decided.

Desmond had been given the task of packing... well, everything else. He had already stowed the contents of Shaun's desk into three or four cardboard boxes - the man had had a lot of random things - leaving them open so the person with two hands could tape them shut. Desmond had also carefully labelled each box "Shaun's shit" with a Sharpie, which he suspected would get him yelled at by Lucy. Or maybe not. It didn't really matter; one lecture was nothing compared to what he'd been through. He might as well have _some_fun, even if that fun was minuscule.

Staring at all the desks, lights, boxes, and furniture, Desmond wondered how they were going to get all of it up the tunnel and into the truck in one night. Last time, they'd had four able-bodied people to lift and carry everything. Now they had a woman and a cripple, both who hadn't had a full night's sleep in ages. It was only a matter of time before the lights got impatient.

But there was nothing he could do. He was lucky he could even convince Lucy to leave; he couldn't push it by asking her to leave all their stuff behind too. Desmond sighed and continued packing.

* * *

Desmond had been right; it took them more than fourteen hours to pack and load everything onto the truck. They'd unrolled sleeping bags - the cots were already packed - and slept for a few hours, then re-packed the sleeping bags. Thankfully, neither of them had had any nightmares that might slow them down further, which actually surprised Desmond.

"Where are we _going_?" Lucy whispered as they packed the bags—they couldn't talk too loud.

"Well," Desmond said as they climbed into the cab of the van, "I used to live in Canada while I was trying to escape from the Assassins, and I know for a fact that no one ever re-bought that house..." He trailed off at Lucy's expression.

"_Canada_?" she hissed.

"Yes," he replied indignantly. "What's wrong with Canada?"

"_How_ are we supposed to get any of this out of the country, let alone across the ocean? I thought you would've had _some_kind of plan as to where we're going." She glared at him the whole time.

"I'm sorry, okay?" Desmond said loudly. "I'm doing the best I can. _You're _the one who insisted on bringing all this shit! What are we even going to do with it, anyway?"

"Do you have any idea how much any of this costs? I can't just leave it here!"

She was still hung up on materials. "Lucy, you don't get it! None of this matters, not the money, not the _stuff_. All that matters is keeping you alive, which we won't be able to do unless we're as far away as possible!"

They glared at each other for a few moments, each too stubborn to back down to the other's demands. But then Desmond realized something: this was exactly what the lights wanted. He and Lucy were being split apart by petty arguments and stubbornness. Eventually one would get fed up with the other, and leave them alone to get lost and die. They needed each other.

Desmond visibly deflated. "You're right," he muttered. "We should be bringing this. I don't know what I was thinking."

Lucy sat up straighter, a light shining in her eyes. Desmond really hoped she wouldn't be smug about getting her way. But all she said was "thanks".

"I..." Desmond began hesitantly, unsure how to approach his idea. "I know someone at the Charles de Gaulle Airport... He could get us on a plane to North America, no questions asked-"

"Wait," Lucy cut in. "The Charles de Gaulle Airport? As in the one in _France_?"

"It's really our only option right now. Still, we don't have any passports..."

Lucy took a deep breath in, then started the van. "You leave that to me."

* * *

The first thing they did was buy an English-speaking GPS. Desmond had said they didn't need one, that all you had to do was make it to France and then follow the Eiffel Tower, but Lucy had insisted.

Lucy typed in Paris, France onto the screen. Desmond turned in his seat and stared out the window at the lightening Italian sky—rain was just starting to fall. When Lucy groaned, he turned his head again. She had leaned back in her seat and was rubbing her eyes. As Desmond looked at the screen, he knew why.

There, on the screen, the letters stuck out like they'd been highlighted—_Approximate travel time: 12 hours, 30 minutes. ETA: 18:46_.

"Twelve _hours_?" Desmond moaned. "It's going to be a long day."

"Hey, what was in the Villa when you went to go look?" Lucy was looking at him now. There were dark circles under her eyes.

"I don't know, all the doors were locked. I couldn't get in."

She looked unimpressed. "And you didn't-?"

He cut her off. "Yes, Lucy, I tried breaking the door down. Any other suggestions?"

"If you'd let me finish," she snapped. "You didn't come to get help from me?"

"Well, I was about to, but then I came down to see you sucking face!"

Lucy's expression was of someone who had just been slapped unexpectedly—a mixture of shock and rage. "Oh, fuck you," she hissed, then started the van again and turned around, driving back the way they'd came.

"We're going back to check, and there's nothing you can do about it."

* * *

**I've been making an effort recently to write longer chapters... it's not working.**


	16. XVI

**Ginger Katt****: Psh, she's just stressed. She's seen two people die, one of them twice O_o I'd be on edge if that happened to me too.  
Oh im bored: Thanks :) Villa. So exciting.**

**Cookies for:  
****-Dead Survivor, for adding this story to their favourites  
-and Ginger Katt, for adding this story to their favourites  
Thanks :D**

* * *

_No matter how much you think you love somebody, you'll step back when the pool of their blood edges up too close.  
_-**Chuck Palahniuk**

* * *

Desmond was going to kill someone if he heard the word recalculating again. They'd been driving for about five minutes, and every time they went somewhere the GPS didn't want them to go, it announced in a loud, robotic voice that it was changing their route. Finally Desmond just reached out and unplugged the thing from the van's power.

After what felt like years, the two Assassins reached Monteriggioni again. Lucy turned off the truck almost immediately and hurried toward the Villa. Desmond followed slower, still limping.

When he finally caught up, Desmond found Lucy jiggling the handle of the door closest to the entrance to the Sanctuary. Looking at that entrance, the yawning dark tunnel, he felt a stab of nostalgia, even though he'd only been gone for less than half an hour. They'd never be back after this.

_So cry three tears for me_

"Told you it was locked," Desmond muttered, leaning against the wall.

"No, this isn't good enough for me. Why would the lights tell you to come here if all the doors were locked?

"It doesn't make sense," Lucy grunted, shoving her shoulder against the wood.

"Curiosity killed the cat," Desmond said under his breath, then moved forward to try and help.

Lucy took a step back and kicked at the door. It didn't budge.

"Come on Lucy, let's just go and-"

"No," she hissed, kicking the door again. "This can't be right! These doors should have fallen apart years ago..."

"That's what I thought too," Desmond piped up. "I didn't know why there wouldn't be a way in..." He trailed off, realizing something.

"I get it now!" he exclaimed. Lucy looked over at him quizzically.

"The way in wasn't the _door_," Desmond explained, pointing to the front entrance. "Well, at least not the door we thought it was." He hurried toward the front entrance, which had been blasted by cannon fire five hundred years ago, Lucy following.

"Why would someone go to all the trouble of replacing the doors that didn't need replacing and not repair the main one?" He stopped in front of the entrance. The balcony from the second floor had collapsed in on the door, but there was still a small gap. It was completely dark.

"Because they have something to hide!" Lucy finished. "There must be _something _back there."

"Could you fit through that hole?" Desmond asked hurriedly, becoming more aware of the brightening sky every minute.

Lucy nodded. "I think so." She worked her way into the darkness until, at last, her heeled shoes disappeared into the hole.

"How dark is it in there?" Desmond called loudly.

"Not bad," came the muffled reply. "I've got my light; I should be fine."

"All right, now see if you can get around to unlock a door."

"Got it."

Desmond waited nervously, pacing in front of the caved-in entrance, for Lucy to reappear. Eventually, his imagination got the best of him, and he kept thinking up more and more extravagant ways she could've wound up killing herself in the darkness. The roof caving in, breaking all her bones and crushing her skull, popping it like a grape; some wild animal had got in and was now tearing her to bits; something of the lights doing, maybe another hallucination, and she ripped out her own eyes from madness and was now wandering blindly around the halls.

Someone tapped him on the shoulder. Desmond jumped and spun around, blade out and ready to stab anyone near—

It was Lucy. Of course it was Lucy. Desmond relaxed and retracted his blade, rolling his neck.

"Damn. You scared me."

Lucy scoffed and turned around, leading the way to the now-open door. Desmond entered the Villa warily, following the Lucy's light.

Mario's office was in shambles. His desk was tipped onto its side, papers scattered all around it, and the Codex wall was ripped, several of the pages missing.

"There's nothing in here," he whispered. "Let's just-"

"Desmond! Use your Eagle Vision!" Lucy was standing near the Codex wall, an excited expression on her face. "You'll be able to see what's under these pages!"

Desmond shrugged. Worth a shot. He switched to Eagle Vision, scanning the entire wall. There was nothing under the pages, no secret message written on the wall.

Switching back to normal vision, Desmond shook his head. "No, Lucy, there's nothing in here. There's nothing in this entire building! It was all a lie."

"No, Desmond, _you're _wrong! You can't know there's nothing in here just by looking at one room!" Lucy strode out the door and Desmond was forced to follow for fear of the darkness.

They quickly passed through the room where Claudia had once sat. There wasn't a whole lot left in the room; the desk was gone, the bookshelves stripped of their contents, and the once-proud model of Monteriggioni had collapsed in on itself, creating a pile of rubble. Desmond wished he'd brought a flashlight.

In the main entrance, Lucy's light did little to penetrate the darkness, only illuminating a six-foot square area. Desmond kept jumping at shadows thrown by Lucy's movement, convinced that something was going to leap out at them.

"Lucy, let's just go, I-"

"Stop being such a pussy," Lucy hissed over her shoulder. Desmond was shocked; he'd never heard so much venom in Lucy's voice, and had never _ever _heard her say pussy. He stared at the floor for a few seconds, embarrassed, then started when he saw what he was looking at.

"Lucy!" he exclaimed.

"We're not fucking leaving Desmond, so stop complaining and get your ass over-"

"No! Come look!" Desmond heard the rapid sound of Lucy's heels as she strode closer, then her sharp intake of air when she saw the floor.

The cracked marble tiles had been smeared with black ink, spelling out one word: _**Firenze**_.

"Florence?" Lucy spoke first. "Why Florence?"

"His name isn't Ezio Auditore da _Firenze _for nothing," Desmond replied, spelling it out like he was talking to a six-year-old. "He probably hid it somewhere from his childhood."

Lucy rolled her eyes. "No shit, Sherlock. What I'm wondering is why the lights are telling us the Apple's in Florence. Why help us?"

"Does it matter?" Desmond straightened up. "We know where it is now." He began walking toward the exit, knowing his way.

"Okay, first of all, what makes you think any of this is the _truth_?" Lucy hurried to catch up. "They could tell us anything and we'd believe them."

"Exactly," Desmond grunted. "We'd go wherever they said, so we're going."

"That's a shitty reason. And second of all, even if we _did _go, who knows where it'd be? Florence isn't exactly a tiny city."

Desmond stepped out into the open air. "We'd have to try. Besides, would you rather go to Canada? You know, living in igloos and riding polar bears?"

Lucy laughed lightly as she followed him. "Right now, it's probably sixty degrees in southern Canada—not nearly cold enough for an igloo. Good try though." She smirked as she walked quickly past him. "Yeah, we're going to Florence."

* * *

Back on the road. Lucy had plugged in the GPS and figured out it would only take them an hour to drive to Florence. Desmond sat in the passenger seat and stared out the window, wondering how long it would've taken to ride a horse to Florence.

The gas light started blinking as the van entered Florence.

Lucy huffed. "Why now? We don't have a lot of time to look for this Apple you claim to be here."

Desmond said nothing and instead sank lower in his seat, glaring out the window, annoyed by how much of a hypocrite Lucy was being.

_Burning so good,  
When it's all gone_

They pulled into a deserted gas station with a yellow-and-white overhang. A homeless man was sitting by the entrance. He jumped to his feet when he saw the truck pull in, an eager look on his dirt-dusted face. Desmond hoped he wouldn't go near them; he didn't know how much more annoyances he could handle.

Lucy pulled up the truck next to a diesel pump and Desmond, eager to stretch his legs, opened his door immediately, lowering himself down onto the concrete. He moved to the driver's side and leaned against the left side of the box; he didn't want to be alone on the passenger side, especially with that hobo eyeballing him.

"Fuck, it's so expensive here," Lucy grumbled. "One and a half euros per litre."

Desmond had no idea what that meant; all he knew was the good old American gas prices of dollars and gallons. So he just _hmm_ed and turned his head away, examining the city.

Suddenly, the homeless man popped out from behind the truck, a small, toothy grin on his face. Holding out a hand, he asked, "Monete? I soldi di ricambio?**(1)**" While asking this, he moved closer until he was an arm's length away and Desmond could smell him.

"Um... no," Desmond stammered, taken by surprise, then quickly switched to Italian. "Niente soldi. Lasciarci in pace, per favore.**(2)**"

The hobo moved even closer. Desmond could smell his breath now. "Per favore, signore, la mia familgia è molto affamato ed è quasi inverno, loro saranno molto freddo-**(3)**"

_I cannot stand who I am_

"Ho detto di _no_!**(4)**" Desmond snarled. "Ora va' via!**(5)**" He thrust out his left hand to shove away the homeless man, then turned back to Lucy, a scowl on his face. The blonde had been watching the whole exchange with raised eyebrows and a light smile as she filled up the tank, but as soon as Desmond made contact with the homeless man, her expression changed to shock—and horror.

"Desmond... What did you just _do_?" she gasped, eyes fixed behind him.

"I pushed him... He was being annoying." Desmond shrugged. Lucy was still staring at him. "What?" he demanded, turning around.

The homeless man was clutching at his throat, eyes wide. Blood welled up from under his hands. Slowly, Desmond looked down at his left hand. The hidden blade was out of its sheath, dyed red up to the hilt. The blood had sprayed from the hobo's neck as Desmond turned, creating a red swipe across the Assassin's back.

_I'm this man with this blood on my hands_

"Oh shit," Desmond croaked as the man fell to his knees then forward, soaking the pavement with blood.

The attendant inside the gas station, a middle-aged, balding man, came out of the door with a confused look on his face. "Cosa stai facendo? È _sangue_, quello?**(6)**"

"Time to go," Desmod hissed, jerking the hose out of the truck, then hurried back to the passenger side, quickly getting into the cab. Lucy followed suit, hurriedly starting the van and peeling out of the gas station. Desmond could hear the attendant yelling after them.

"Mio Dio... è morto! Aiuto! Centodiciotto!**(7)**"

_In this blood I am damned_

"Now what?" Lucy screamed as they sped away from the yelling. She was leaning forward, knuckles white on the steering wheel.

"We get the fuck out of here," Desmond hissed, grabbing on to the dashboard as the truck made a sharp turn. "Keep driving until we're as far away from this city as possible."

* * *

**1 - Coins? Money to spare?**  
**2 - No money. Leave us alone, please.**  
**3 - Please, sir, my family is very hungry and it's almost winter, they will be very cold-**  
**4 - I said _no_!**  
**5 - Now go away!**  
**6 - What are you doing? Is that _blood_?**  
**7 - My God... he's dead! Help! One-one-eight! (The Italian equivalent of 9-1-1 :3)**

**SO. MUCH. ITALIAN.**

**Bleh, I feel like Lucy is either _really_ OOC or she has bi-polar disorder :3 **

**Gotta love bashing your own country 8D**

**One last thing: I dunno if my Villa layout is right, or if there's even a hole big enough for Lucy to get through in the front entrance. I didn't feel like getting up and turning on le Xbox; I just went by memory :3 So just pretend it's like that, and if not, feel free to correct me.**


	17. XVII

**Ginger Katt****: Yeah, she's kind of annoying, but she's still one of my faves :3 Have you seen the scene from Brotherhood with her and Desmond under ze moonlight? THEY SO CUTE. -epicfangirlspazz-  
****xXfigxXD: Thanks! I know not a lot of people are fond of epic hardcore AC stories; I haven't seen a lot. That's why I decided to write my own :D  
****Someone: tbh I'm kinda surprised too. It makes me sad :( But thanks so much for your review!**

**And thanks to:  
-xXfigxXD for the story alert**

**Would you guys rather fast updates and short chapters or slow updates and long chapters?**

* * *

_Enemy of mine  
I'll fuck you like the devil  
Violent inside  
Beautiful and evil  
_-**30 Seconds to Mars**' Stranger in a Strange Land

* * *

They raced out of Florence, both too panicked and frightened to even be thinking about what they were supposed to be doing in that city. By unspoken agreement, Lucy had re-set the GPS to take them to Paris.

They'd heard no sirens, nor saw anyone looking at them oddly. The truck was in the countryside now, traveling through fields and farmland. Desmond stared out the window at the livestock and crops whipping by.

That homeless man hadn't been the first person he'd killed, nor the first innocent. But guilt still clawed at the Assassin's heart more than it ever had. It was because there had been no epic battle going on around them, no one had been in danger—Desmond just killed him. The hobo hadn't been caught in the crossfire; he was murdered for no reason. He'd said he had a family.

Desmond shook himself. One homeless man shouldn't get him emotional or feeling sorry. Two people he actually _knew _had died, and he hadn't been thoroughly emotional about those events.

And yet, there he was, feeling his heart breaking at the thought of that poor man. He almost felt himself starting to cry, but Lucy distracted him at the perfect time.

"You never told me how you broke your hand," she stated. It wasn't a question, but it was implied.

"It was Saturday night," he began slowly. "You told me to go to bed, and so I started dreaming-"

"Skip the dream." Lucy cut him off, eyes still on the road. "Get to the breaking-your-hand part."

"That _is_ the breaking-my-hand part," Desmond retorted. "It happened _in _the dream."

"_What_?" Lucy yelled, swerving violently, but righted the truck. Recovering, she panted, "You nearly killed yourself in a dream?"

"Yes," Desmond gasped out, heart pounding. "You might finish the job though, jeez..."

"What did you think?" he asked after Lucy didn't respond. "That I'd gone outside, broken my hand, gotten a knife wound in my leg, then, what, _flew _back into my bed?"

"God, you're starting to sound like Shaun," Lucy muttered, then said louder, "So you can injure yourself in your dreams?"

"I didn't injure _myself_," Desmond put in. "The lights did it."

"Oh great, so the lights can kill us while we're sleeping!" The blonde sounded exasperated.

"No," he said. "They can't kill you since 'they don't have the tools to', and they can't kill me because I'm supposed to kill you." He shrugged. "Another scare tactic, I guess."

"We'll have to take turns sleeping," Lucy decided.

"What?" Desmond yelped, sitting up further. "I just _told _you-"

"They can't kill us, but they can hurt us. I'm not taking any chances with injuries; we can't afford any more."

"So, we're going to sit there and watch the other person sleep until we see blood? Yeah, sounds like a great plan," Desmond encouraged sarcastically. "It worked so well with Rebecca." He ignored Lucy's sound of pain and anger. "We couldn't get her to wake up until the lights _let _her wake up."

"...Right," Lucy said stiffly. "Never mind then." She curved the van onto an off-ramp. The GPS almost instantly spat out, "recalculating."

"Gah," Desmond groaned. "Is there a volume control on that thing or something?"

Without taking her eyes off the road, Lucy reached over and flicked a switch. Desmond rolled his eyes and glared out the window.

"Where are we going, anyway?" he asked when he noticed they weren't on the highway.

"Passports, remember?" Lucy looked sideways at him. "You can come in if you want, but this guy can be a bit..." She paused. "Eccentric."

Desmond gawped at her. "You know _interesting _people?" he gasped jokingly. Lucy laughed lightly, and the tension between them vanished instantly.

* * *

They slept. It felt strange to Desmond, being in the sun and trying to rest, but he knew he needed it, and so did Lucy. It was night by the time they set off again.

* * *

The van pulled into a driveway set in basically the middle of nowhere, and pulled up to a classic Italian-style home. Just looking at it made Desmond want to climb it, despite it being only one story.

"Let's go," he said, eager to be out of the tight, cramped, cab.

"Not so fast." Lucy grabbed his arm as he was about to open the door. "This man isn't the type to go barging in on—he's selling us fake passports, remember?"

"Oh, right." Desmond sat still, picturing the guns, dogs, bouncers, and maybe traps this guy had in his home.

"So what do we do?" he asked after ten seconds.

"Follow after me. Stay one or two steps behind, keep your head up, and for God's sake, look like you know what you're doing." Lucy pulled the keys out of the ignition and opened her door.

"I _do _know-" Desmond started to protest, opening his own.

"And don't say anything until I say you can!" Lucy hissed, sticking her head out from the front of the truck. Desmond glared, but shut his mouth, following the blonde hair in front of him.

When they reached the door, Lucy turned to face him. "How do I look?" In the dim light, her hair looked tousled, her makeup smudged, and there were dark circles under her eyes. Desmond wasn't sure if he was allowed to talk yet, so he pointed to her hair.

"For fuck's sake..." Lucy muttered. "You can tell me!" she exclaimed.

"Hair's messed up, makeup's smudged."

Quickly Lucy shoved her hands through her hair, then licked the tip of her finger and swiped under her eyes a few times. "Now?" she asked. There was some improvement; she at least looked decent.

"Better."

"It'll have to do. No talking now," Lucy added. She turned around and grasped the knocker, then banged four times on the dense wooden door.

The door creaked open slowly, revealing darkness inside the house.

"Entrer.**(1)**" A voice, thickly accented, echoed from inside. Lucy glanced back quickly at Desmond, then stepped over the threshold.

"French?" Desmond muttered to himself. They'd driven further than he thought.

Following Lucy, he felt his heart pounding loudly in his chest. He activated his Eagle Vision as the house got darker, tailing after the blue figure that was Lucy, but he was unable to see anything else.

All of a sudden, lights snapped on, nearly blinding Desmond. He hissed and quickly switched back to normal vision, slapping a hand over his eyes instinctively.

"Open your damn eyes," Lucy growled, suddenly at his ear. Desmond obeyed, standing up straighter.

They were standing in a well-lit hallway that stretched from one end of the house to the other. The floor was covered by a classical red rug with swirling yellow and orange patterns. It felt like he was standing on a volcano.

The walls were a dark brown wood, and paintings hung up and down the length of the hallway. Doors were dotted up and down the hall. One of them opened, and though no one stepped out, the same French voice projected from it.

"Qui est là?**(2)**"

"Lucy. Lucy Stillman." Said Assassin projected her voice down the hallway, talking clearly. With a quick glance at Desmond, she added, "Et un... ami.**(3)**"

Desmond gaped. Lucy _spoke _French?

"Lucy!" A tall man stepped from the doorway, beaming. He quickly strode forward and grasped her hand, pumping it enthusiastically. "Ma bella, ça a été beaucoup trop long! Comment avez-vous été? Regarde-moi, de poser des questions je sais que tu ne peux pas répondre. Organisation secrète et tous.**(4)**" He winked, then turned to Desmond. "Ah, et qui est ce? Lucy, vous ne me dites pas que vous connaissiez ces... des gens _intéressants_.**(5)**" His voice was deep and loud. He reminded Desmond of a French version of Bartolomeo.

Desmond just stood there like he was supposed to, not knowing a word of French except for "chien d'Italienne**(6)**", and he highly doubted that was appropriate for the situation.

"Je sais ce que vous pensez,**(7)**" Lucy cut in. "Mais il est ma _connaissance_. S'il vous plaît parlez anglais, il ne peut pas comprendre un mot que tu dis.**(8)**"

The man gave her a sideways look and half raised an eyebrow as his grin spread wider. "English, eh?" He turned to Desmond and held out a hand. "I am René Descartis. Pleased to meet you."

Desmond stood there awkwardly, unsure how to shake this man's hand with a sling on his right arm.

René looked down, then laughed. "Ah. Had a row with Abstergo, did you?" English clearly wasn't his first language.

Desmond shot a horrified glance at Lucy. She'd _told _René about Abstergo? And if he knew about Absergo, then surely he knew about the Assassins, the Templars, everything else—

René laughed loudly. "No, I did my own research. Lucy did not say anything, don't you worry."

Desmond never knew it was that easy to find information.

"Now, what did you need?" René asked, turning to Lucy.

"Passports," Lucy told him, producing a wad of euros and holding it out. "For the two of us."

The Frenchman took the money. "Follow me." He walked down the hall and stepped into the second door on the left.

Desmond felt very small and insignificant next to this large man. René's muscles bulged from under his dark blue polo shirt, and he was at least six and a half feet tall. Desmond wasn't short, but he wasn't tall - even Shaun had been taller than him - and this giant was making him feel even smaller.

Desmond was the last in the room. René had waited for him and closed the door as soon as the Assassin crossed the threshold.

"Tu lui faire confiance?**(9)**" he heard René ask Lucy quietly.

"_Yes_," the blonde retorted. "I can."

Desmond silently thanked Lucy for not making him look like a complete tool. He knew what René was doing, talking in French so the Assassin wouldn't understand him.

René shrugged. "Good enough for me," he stated, unfazed, then turned to the contents of the room.

There were several computers set up against the wall, a printer and a scanner hooked up to each. They were all monitor; Desmond couldn't see any other parts.

To his left, there was a camera on a tripod, a stool with a white sheet behind it set up where the lens was pointing.

"Would you like me to take your pictures or do you have your own you could give me?" René asked as he turned on one of the computers.

Desmond and Lucy glanced at each other. The blonde's hair was still messy, dark circles remained under her eyes, and Desmond doubted he looked any better.

"Give you them," Lucy decided, taking two out of her pocket. Desmond vowed to ask her later where she'd gotten an expressionless picture of him on a white background.

René took the pictures, then turned around to start scanning them.

"You can talk now; I think he likes you," Lucy muttered when his back was turned.

Almost immediately, Desmond released his irritation. "Should I speak Italian so _he _doesn't know what I'm talking about?" he hissed to her. "Or maybe Arabic? That'd be really confusing."

"Oh, stop it." Lucy looked unimpressed. "He just asked me if I trust you. He could go to jail for a long time if the wrong person finds out about this."

"French, Swiss, Austrian, Slovenian, or Italian passport?" René asked over his shoulder, sitting at the computer.

"Italian," Desmond said before Lucy could open her mouth.

"Oh?" René turned around, looking somewhat amused. "A fan of the country?"

Desmond shrugged. "You could say that. I have relatives here," he added, grinning sideways at Lucy, who was looking at him, half amused and half if-you-say-one-more-word-I'll-kill-you.

"Two Italian passports coming up." René turned back toward his computer, then abruptly spun back around. "Ah, Lucy, you never told me the name of this running fellow here."

Desmond and Lucy exchanged a look. "Running?" Lucy asked.

"Oh, mon Dieu**(10)**," René muttered. "I got the word wrong, didn't I? What is it...?"

"Dashing?" Desmond guessed, feeling more confident.

"That's the one!" René pointed at him. "So, what's your name?"

"De-" the Assassin started, but Lucy cut him off.

"De-Demetrio!" she said quickly. "Demetrio Milianni."

René stared at the two of them for a few seconds, then shrugged and laughed softly. "Italian, you were right." He slowly turned back to his computer.

Desmond rolled his eyes at Lucy. She glared back at him.

They went on to fill out their passports, providing middle names, birth dates, and place of birth—all of them fake for Desmond, aside from his birthday. It couldn't hurt for someone to know that.

After they printed, René retrieved the papers - that's all they were - and inserted half of them into a small machine on the table next to the computers. He retrieved them after a minute or two, bound in red leather, then inserted the other half. He rummaged through a drawer, then stamped one of the pages on the bound passport.

"Here you are, Lucy." René handed her a passport. Lucy flipped through it quickly, nodding.

After doing the same to Desmond's passport, René handed it to the Assassin. "And here you are... Demetrio." The Frenchman fixed him with a hard stare. Desmond nonchalantly took the passport and leafed through it. The picture of him was recent, and Desmond tried to memorise his fake name—Demetrio Ezio Milianni. Lucy'd thrown in the Ezio as a joke.

She was fucking hilarious.

Apparently, Demetrio was born and raised in Italy and lived his whole life in Rome. He and Lucy were going to France for some kind of touristy crap; apparently Demetrio had never left his humble little city. He just hoped no one would question his American accent. Hell, no one questioned Altaïr for _his _accent, and America hadn't even been thought of yet! But then again, Altaïr had been a master Assassin; people were probably too scared to question him. Screw it, Desmond would just pretend not to know what anyone who questioned him was talking about.

"Thank you so much, René," Lucy said earnestly as the large man led them back toward the front door, closing the door to the "passport room", as Desmond liked to call it.

"Thank _you_, bella**(11)**." René winked. "_You_gave the money."

Desmond followed behind the two as they laughed, just wanting to get out of there.

At the door, something caught his eye. There was a tall, skinny table pushed against the wall, various newspapers scattered across it. One of them featured a blurry black-and-white picture of two people getting into a truck that looked like it had been taken by a security camera. He hadn't noticed it when they'd come in because it had been so dark, but the truck in the picture - taken from the overhang of a gas station - looked awfully familiar.

"Oh, shit," he muttered. "Lucy..."

"Yeah?" She looked over his shoulder, then swore loudly. "They got a _picture_?"

"Quoi?**(12)**" René asked.

The entire newspaper was in French, but Desmond knew enough to figure out that _La Nation_**(13)**, the newspaper's title, meant _The Nation_. Which meant that the entire country of France knew a rough version of what they looked like.

"Where's this paper from?" Desmond turned to René. "Paris?"

"No, no," René laughed. "It's from Florence; I have it delivered here every day."

"Wait," Lucy broke in. "If this is a Florentine newspaper, shouldn't it be in Italian?"

"You forget, Lucy." René smiled widely. "I am a very powerful man. If I want a newspaper delivered to me, four and a half hours away, and in my language, I will get it."

Desmond shook his head at the lunacy—it must cost thousands of dollars a week just to get that newspaper.

"What does the headline say?" he asked in both of their general directions.

"Man killed at gas station, suspects still at large." Lucy tilted her head sideways to read it. "Fuck."

"Are our names mentioned anywhere?" Desmond asked nervously.

Lucy scanned the front page, then breathed out. "No. All it says is one male, brown eyes and hair, and one female, blue eyes and blonde hair."

"Well, that could be anyone."

"Yeah, but they have a pretty good picture of our truck," the blonde pointed out.

"Wait, wait, wait." René stood over them. "You _killed _a man?"

"It was an accident," Desmond said desperately, not wanting to anger this powerful, intimidating man.

"Mon Dieu,**(10)**," René whispered. "Lucy, how could you do this?"

"René-" Lucy began, a pleading look in her eyes.

He held up his hand. "I think you should leave now."

_So watch my wings burn_

The blonde looked up at him, eyes wide, a shocked and hurt expression on her face, then turned and opened the front door and stepped out. Desmond followed her. He could feel René's eyes boring through his back, then the door slammed shut behind him.

* * *

**1 - Enter**  
**2 - Who's there?**  
**3 - And a... friend.**  
**4 - My dear, it's been too long! How have you been? Look at me, asking questions I know you can't answer. Secret organization and all.**  
**5 - Ah, and who is this? Lucy, you never told me you know such... _interesting_ people.**  
**6 - Italian dog**  
**7 - I know what you're thinking.**  
**8 - But he is my _acquaintance_. Please, speak English, he has no idea what you're saying.**  
**9 - You trust him?**  
**10 - My God**  
**11 - dear**  
**12 - What?**  
**13 - The Nation**

**Whenever I put Desmond and Lucy together, they seem to want to fight. It's making me mad :U**

**Also, why is it that characters I make up automatically act all cheerful and happy? I NEED TO MAKE AN EMO CHARACTER. Oh, and remember when Desmond said that René reminded him of Bartolomeo? Well, René is French for rebirth, so... o3o**


	18. XVIII

**Ginger Katt: There aren't many people for him... Except Shaun :D You know they love each other OvO Anyway, thanks a lot for reviewing so much!  
Draconlaris: Thanks! Oh, I know how it feels to have a story open in a tab on an iPhone.. it used to take me weeks just to read a story D:  
Dimension3500: Thank you :) I don't think I'm going to be adding any Revelations, since this story is now so far off Brotherhood's storyline, I don't think Revelations is going to exist :3 Also, I lied. No long chapters for you.  
xXfigxXD: Trololol. Don't look at me, Lucy came up with it! Thanks a lot ^_^**

**Also, big, huge, chocolate-covered thank yous to:  
-Draconlaris, for adding this story to their alert  
-and Dimension3500, for adding myself to their favourite authors, and this story to their alert**

**To anyone who cares: I have a new story up. It's a ShaunDes fic, and I'm planning on making it extremely fluffy and dark at the same time. Go check it out, it's on my page 8D**

* * *

_The steady burst of snow is burning my hands_  
_I'm frozen to the bones  
__I am a__ million miles from home  
I'm walking away  
_-**Woodkid**'s Iron

* * *

"Well, that was successful," Desmond commented drily after ten minutes of driving.

"Just..." Lucy took a shaky breath. "Just shut the fuck up."

"You aren't _honestly _blaming me, are you?" As she opened her mouth to protest, he continued. "Don't. I can tell you think it's my fault."

Lucy glanced sideways at him, looking apologetic. "I know. I'm sorry, it's just..." She paused and looked back at the black road. "I don't want René mad at me."

"Oh, because he's huge and rich and powerful and could have you assassinated in-"

"No," Lucy interrupted impatiently. "Because he was my _friend_, and friends shouldn't get mad at each other."

"Then why are we always fighting?" Desmond asked, realizing something. "We're friends, right?"

She sighed. "Yes, we are; I don't know why we fight. I just feel so stressed and worn out lately. So much has happened in the past week... It's wearing me down."

"I know." Desmond smiled reassuringly and laid a gentle hand on Lucy's shoulder. "I'm here for you, okay?"

His head exploded in rage. The lights had always been there, in the back of his mind, but the combination of his kindness and physical contact sent them into a frenzy. They all screamed at him at once, until their words melded together to create one long, unbroken angry cry.

"Agh!" Desmond jerked his hand back, clutching his head with one hand. His heart pounded erratically, and pain blurred his vision.

"**FUCKING lying BITCH, she is not your FRIEND, she is in your WAY,**" they all screamed at once, their voices sounding harsh and layered.

"In the way of _what_?" Desmond howled back at them out loud, feeling fed up. The outside world was a blur.

"You don't get it! I'm _not _just going to kill someone because you tell me to, especially not a friend!"

"**She LIES, we CAN SEE IT in her EYES.**" Their voices grew even louder, the words drilling forcibly into his brain.

"The only liars here are _you_," Desmond growled. "Now get the fuck out of my head!"

"**YOU WANT US OUT? KILL. HER.**" Every word was howled harshly; Desmond felt like it was so loud the excess sound was coming out his ears and eyes.

In answer, he screamed back at them, a wordless cry full of anguish and anger, then cried, "Get - out - of - my - head!"

The lights' rage overflowed and Desmond's brain was lit by a white-hot anger. The pain was more than he could ever imagine, so much pain..

_As they burn in the fire_

He passed out.

* * *

Lucy stared in shock. "Desmond! Desmond!" she cried, as he screamed bloody murder, clutching his head. Deciding she couldn't drive and deal with this at the same time, she pulled the truck to the side of the road, turning off its engine.

"Get - out - of - my - head!" Desmond howled, then seconds later his eyes rolled back and he slumped to the side, unconscious.

"Shit," Lucy muttered, then shook his shoulder gently. "Desmond?"

His eyes snapped open. They were gold.

* * *

When Desmond opened his eyes, he thought he was dreaming. The entire cab of the truck was covered in negative light; blacks appeared white and whites appeared black. Leaning over him was a glowing red figure.

_Templar! _was his confused brain's first thought. He coiled away, pressing himself as far away from the red as possible. "Stay away from me," he growled, unsheathing his blade and holding it up threateningly.

The figure was moving her mouth, but his ears were still ringing and he couldn't hear a word she was saying. She moved her hands frantically, then reached toward him.

"Stay away!" Desmond hissed threateningly, raising his blade.

The red figure withdrew her hand and moved her mouth again. His hearing was starting to return. It sounded like she was saying "Tree pull prison", but it was muffled, as if a cloth was wrapped around his ears.

All at once, his hearing snapped back into life. "Eagle Vision!" the figure was yelling. "Desmond, turn it _off_!"

He had been unconsciously holding his sight to Eagle Vision, whereas it normally took an effort to keep it activated. Desmond switched back to normal vision. The cab turned back to its regular colours, and the figure in front of him stopped glowing red.

It was Lucy, a panicked looked on her face. Well, of course it had been Lucy. Desmond cursed himself for being such an idiot.

"I was so close.." he whispered. "If you'd come any closer..." He looked down at the blade on his wrist, hating it.

"Get this fucking thing _off _of me!" He shook his arm madly, trying to jar the buckles loose.

"Stop, stop!" Lucy cried desperately. "It's still unsheathed; you could hurt yourself."

Before the words were even out of her mouth, the tip of the blade sunk into the fleshy part on Desmond's ring finger. It only entered half a centimetre deep, but it hurt like hell. "Mother_fucker_!" he shouted, sheathing the metal demon.

"Ah, shit." Lucy leaned over him gently and opened the glove compartment, pulling out the first aid kit. "We're going to run out of bandages at this rate." It didn't _sound _like a joke.

She set the first aid kid in her lap and rummaged through it, pulling out a couple Band-Aids and several cotton swabs.

"Give me your hand."

Desmond was hesitant, remembering the last time he'd given her an injured hand. But he held it out for Lucy to take. She took it gently and pressed cotton swabs on them for a few minutes until the bleeding stopped.

Lucy removed the swabs and turned to open the Band-Aids on the dashboard. It wasn't too bad; the bleeding had stopped and he could see the cut wasn't deep.

Lucy turned back and wrapped one Band-Aid around his finger, then the other on the back. It looked like Desmond was wearing some sort of thick, pale beige wedding band.

"Thanks," he gasped. His head throbbed again as Lucy smoothed the bandage down on his finger. Desmond jerked his hand away a little to quickly to avoid the pain, but Lucy looked at him slightly hurt.

The blonde started the ignition, focusing her eyes intently on the road. Desmond had noticed that they'd stopped, but it hadn't exactly been high on his priority list. He gently reached over and took the First Aid kit from Lucy's lap, closed it, and put it back in the glove compartment.

The GPS said there was still seven and a half hours to go.

There was absolutely nothing to do. All Desmond could do to entertain himself was to stare out the window and watch the streetlights pass by, illuminating the truck differently every second. Soon the pattern became repetitive and annoying.

He found himself looking at the clock on the dashboard every five minutes exactly. He wasn't sure how or why, but every time he glanced at it, five minutes had passed. 10:03. 10:08. 10:13. It was absolutely infuriating.

Lucy hadn't taken his blade off. It had taken him ten or fifteen minutes to realize it, but when he did, he found it didn't really matter to him anymore. Besides, he didn't want to bother Lucy; she seemed to be thinking about something really hard.

He was scared. That time had been close—the lights' rage had almost melted his brain, and then the hallucination nearly made him stab Lucy. Desmond just hoped they could make it to the CDG Airport without anymore incidents.

The gas light blinked on. Lucy groaned. "Not more gas."

"Yes!" Desmond was excited. "Let's go so I can get out of here and stretch my legs. This cab is too small if you ask me."

"No," Lucy said. "Remember the _last _time you had to 'stretch your legs'?"

"Oh come on, that was an accident-"

"_No,_" she repeated firmly, sounding slightly irritated. "We can't afford any more accidents. You're not getting out of this truck."

Desmond decided to plead his case one more time. "It's already-" He glanced at the clock. 10:18. "-almost ten thirty, there'll be no one there-"

"I fucking said _no_!" Lucy snapped. "What part of that don't you understand? I'm not letting you get your way every single time." Her voice rose until she was shouting. "You don't seem to understand that I'm doing this for _you_, so that _you_ don't get hurt, not just because I feel like pissing you off! So _shut up _and listen to me for once!"

Desmond was utterly speechless. He didn't realize how much of a douche he had been lately. Thinking about it, he soon realized that he _had _been manipulating Lucy to get what he wanted a lot. Not caring, he hadn't really been listening to her warnings about getting himself hurt.

"Sorry," he muttered humbly.

Lucy breathed in deeply, then sighed. "It's fine," she said, looking sideways at him and smiling a little. Desmond smiled back apologetically.

"But you still can't get out of the car." She was still grinning.

* * *

Finding a gas station, filling up, and getting back on the highway had taken about a half hour. Their estimated arrival time was now pushed back to six in the morning. They could've been in Paris and on a plane by now if they hadn't stopped to sleep. But Desmond knew that he and Lucy'd needed it—Lucy especially. You can't drive for twelve straight hours without a break. It was maddening.

However, on a motorcycle... It was exhilarating driving one; Desmond could ride his bike around the world ten times and never get tired of it. The feeling of the wind tugging at his skin and clothes, of weightlessness as he glided over the road was like a drug to him. Every time he'd gotten of his bike, he wished he could get right back on.

But that was more than a month ago. Desmond still couldn't believe how short it had been since he'd been home, and yet how long it felt. People were dying around him wherever he went now.

* * *

**As for this chapter... I'm not really proud of it. It's cut off at a really random time. But it's chapter freaking eighteen! Whoever would've thought that I could get that far in a story? Thanks so much everyone for your continued support :)**


	19. XIX

**xXfigxXD: She seemed too strong-willed to get pushed around that easy, so I made her lose her temper. It's fun :D And as for the Eagle Vision... that's for me to know and you to find out ;)  
Ginger Katt: Honestly, I love being bothered, don't be polite about it :D Oh, and just because I created the lights doesn't mean I'm in control of them. They could come for me any second O_o  
Draconlaris: UPDATE SOON, AHA YOU'RE FUNNY. No but seriously, thanks for reviewing and shiiiit :D  
ultimateform14: Who's not updating now, biooootch? Kidding. Honestly, thanks so much for that review, and you have the honour of making me get my ass back into this thing.**

**Big huge thanks to:  
-BLMID, for adding this story to their favourites  
-Reiji Ishiya, for adding this story to their alert  
-ultimateform14, for adding this story to their alert and favourites  
-wooqy, for adding this story to their alert and favourites **

**WHAT. AN UPDATE? Hellz yeah! I'm _so_ sorry about that intensely long wait guys, it's just... I had the hugest writer's block ever ._. I hope you'll still read this even though it's been three months...**

* * *

_The murderer rises with the light; He kills the poor and needy;_  
_and in the night he is like a thief.  
_-**Jobs 24:14**

* * *

"There's the border." Lucy pointed to a cluster of lights in front of them. "Just act natural, okay? And whatever you do, _don't _let him see that blood."

Desmond turned his body slightly to the left as they pulled up to the booth, so the blood stain on his sweater was against the seat and not visible.

"Buonasera**(1)**," the border guard greeted them, opening his window. "Francese o Italiana?**(2)**"

Lucy stared at him blankly.

"French or Italian?" Desmond muttered to her.

"Oh!" Lucy laughed sheepishly. "Je suis désolée, monsieur. Français.**(3)**"

"Les passeports, s'il vois plaît,**(4)**" the guard said, unfazed, holding out his hand.

Lucy, cheeks dusted slightly red, reached into the door beside her and handed them to him.

"Américane?**(5)**" he asked, opening Lucy's passport.

"Oh, oui**(6)**," she replied.

"Pas beaucoup de Français dans ce pays,**(7)**" the guard commented. "La plupart sont au Canada.**(8)**"

Lucy nodded in response.

The guard turned to Desmond's passport. "Italien, monsieur?**(9)**" he asked, talking around Lucy.

Desmond looked at him pointedly, knowing what he was saying, but wanting the man to understand he didn't appreciate being spoken to in a language _he _didn't speak.

"Oh, mi dispiace. Che era colpa mia,**(10)**," the guard apologized. "Perché stai viaggiando insieme, se si parlano lingue diverse?**(11)**"

"Noi e due parlano Inglese,**(12)**" Desmond explained.

"Ha un senso.**(13)**" The guard handed them back their passports. "Hanno un bel tempo in Francia,**(14)**" he said, then switched back to French and said to Lucy, "Avoir un bon séjour en France.**(15)**"

"Merci, au revoir,**(16)**" Lucy replied lightly, taking back the passports and driving away slowly. She rolled up her window and breathed out deeply. "Well, that was easy."

Desmond grinned. "You said it."

It was near-instantaneous. Lights flashed on behind them from two black cars that had been using the dark roads to their advantage. A split-second later, gunfire exploded the quiet night and shook Desmond to his core.

"Shit!" Lucy screamed, swerving then righting the truck. "Get _down_, you idiot!" she yelled as he sat there, then shoved his head forward with one hand when he didn't move.

Desmond hunched down low in his seat, eyes wide, feeling every single bullet hit their vehicle. Lucy barely had her eyes over the wheel as she ducked.

One of the cars sped up, moving next to them. It opened its passenger window, and all Desmond could see was the gun.

"Oh no you _don't_," Lucy growled, jerking the wheel to her left. The sharp sound of metal on metal cut through the air, and sparks showered onto the road. Lucy kept at it, and the black car was forced off of the road, where it spun off into the dirt.

The smile wasn't even on to Desmond's lips before they bucked to the right after a huge popping noise.

"The tire!" Lucy cried, real fear in her eyes now. Almost immediately the truck started to slow, and despite Lucy's best efforts, it stopped a few hundred metres past where they'd been hit. The remaining car halted behind them and two men in suits that looked too much like the Secret Service got out.

"We don't have _any _guns?" Desmond demanded in a whisper as they got closer.

Lucy shook her head. She looked like she was about to say something, but both doors were violently pulled open, and all Desmond could hear was yelling.

"Hands in the air! Out of the car!"

Immediately he obeyed, thrusting his left hand into the air and gingerly lowering himself onto the dirt. The guard on his side grabbed the Assassin's arm and shoved him roughly against the hood of the van, so his stomach was slammed into the metal.

Gasping, Desmond looked up across the hood to see Lucy in a similar position. She stared at him, and all he could see was the hopelessness in her eyes.

Without warning, Desmond whipped around and jammed his blade into the guard's eye socket, killing him instantly in a spray of blood. The other guard cried out and abandoned Lucy, rushing around the front of the truck, weapon raised.

Desmond stared down the barrel and froze. He'd always had a fear of guns, and his splintered consciousness was not helping matters.

"We were supposed to take you back to Vidic," the guard growled, raising his pistol to eye level and taking aim at Desmond's face. "But he's going to be disappointed."

Desmond glanced to the side. Lucy was staring, just staring, a look of pure horror on her face. He looked back, determined to see his death down, and breathed deeply.

The guard's finger tightened around the trigger, and there was a large flash. It wasn't, however, from the gun.

A light had materialized and was now floating in front of Desmond, who, despite the situation, felt angry. "Now's _not _the best time for this!"

The light ignored him, and instead hissed out, "**he is _not_ yours to kill.**"

Desmond realized it was facing the guard and not him. It was actually protecting him.

The guard's eyes darted around the empty landscape, though he never moved. "Who's there?" he growled.

"Leave now, and you will be spared," the light rumbled.

"Fuck this," the guard hissed, and fired at Desmond.

The Assassin gasped, expecting to find blood pumping out of some hole in his body, but found after a quick look-over of himself found that there was no blood on him other than the guard's.

The light let out a screech of rage, having been fired at, at pulsed once so that a shockwave exploded from it, killing the guard instantly. One second he was standing there, the next his eyes had exploded in his face and he was falling to the side.

Lucy's eyes had grown considerably wider until they were like two blue orbs in her face, reflecting the light from the truck's cab and headlights. "It saved your life," she breathed, staring widely at the light.

"**He still has a task to complete,**" the light hissed, pulsing a glowing red.

Now Lucy's eyes turned to Desmond. He was still staring at the guard, laying lifeless in the dirt with two bloody holes in his face. He slowly looked up toward the light, feeling totally drained.

"I am _so _sick and tired of you." He tried to make his voice firm, but all he could manage was a whisper.

"**It's just one little task,**" the light reminded him, swooping down next to his head. "**And after it's done, I can take you home.**"

An image flashed in his head, an image of New York City outlined against the sunset. America. His true home.

Slowly, Desmond turned his head to look at Lucy. She was staring at him, a pleading look in her eyes, yet her facial expression told him that she didn't think he'd do it.

"**Might I remind you that it's almost midnight and you're stuck in the French countryside with no phone or means of transportation.**" The light was talking again.

"There's two fucking _dead guys _here!" Desmond exclaimed.

"**I can make it all go away.**"

He shook his head. "No. You can't touch us, and you know it."

The light pulsed faster, angrier. "**Fine,**" it hissed. "**Have fun getting arrested.**" It blinked away.

As soon as its light faded, Desmond fell to the side, feeling dizzy, and clutched at the hood of the van.

"What do we do?" he gasped.

"Well.." Lucy squinted out at the horizon. "I can see some lights over there. There's a flashlight in the car, maybe we can go try and find help..."

"I meant about the fucking lights," Desmond growled, gritting his teeth. His head was throbbing painfully, and all he wanted to do was lay down and die.

"Uh, I think we've got bigger problems," Lucy whispered, rushing around to his side of the van. "The other two guards are coming."

Desmond, shaking off his tiredness, looked up at the cab and did some quick calculations. "I've got an idea. Hide. I can handle this."

"Wait, wait, wait!" Lucy grabbed his arm as he was about to move away. "Could you at least tell me what you're planning on doing?"

"Not unless you want to die," he replied grimly. "We don't have time. Just trust me, okay?"

She sighed. "Fine." Without another word, she dropped to her stomach and shimmied under the box.

Desmond jogged to the front of the van, wincing at the pain in his thigh, then used his good hand to pull himself onto the hood, then over the windshield onto the roof of the cab. Another small step and he was crouching on top of the truck, just barely outlined by the moon.

The guards came around the passenger side first. "Where are they?" one asked his partner, then muttered, "oh, shit" when he saw the two dead men.

Desmond gritted his teeth, waiting for his opportunity. Realizing he'd have no balance with just one arm, he pulled his sling off, telling himself that if he messed up his hand beyond repair it would be worth it to live. He gently set the shirt down on the roof, crouching lower at the edge.

"They can't have gotten far," the same guard said, sounding totally wooden about his two co-workers' death.

"Yeah," the other agreed, coming to stand beside his partner. "They're probably hiding under the fucking truck or something." Both of them had their guns out.

One kneeled. Taking a deep breath and steeling himself, Desmond leapt down, thrusting his blade through the standing guard's neck. The other guard heard the strangled cries and whipped his head around, standing immediately.

Seeing no other way, Desmond thrust out his right hand and pushed with all his might against the guard's right until the gun wasn't pointed at him. As soon as he could, the Assassin flicked his wrist back and jammed his blade into the guard's eye - _what _was with him and the eyes? - killing him instantly.

Desmond stood, panting, blood all over him, bodies around him. His right hand sang with pain, but he ignored it. He'd done it. He'd saved them.

_I'll scatter the ashes  
And kneel for the choir_

_**Well done,** _a voice whispered.

* * *

**1 - Good evening  
2 - French or Italian?  
3 - I'm sorry, sir. French.  
4 - Passports, please.  
5 - American?  
6 - yes  
7 - Not many French-speaking people in that country.  
8 - Most are in Canada.  
9 - Italian, sir?  
10 - Oh, sorry. That was my fault.  
11 - Why are you travelling together if you speak different languages?  
12 - We both speak English.  
13 - Makes sense.  
14 - Have a nice time in France. (in Italian)  
15 - Have a nice time in France. (in French)  
16 - Thank you, good-bye.**

**Don't expect updates any time soon. This chapter was such a fail I need a week or two to recover from it -headdesk- **


	20. XX

**ultimateform14: Here you go then :D And, uh... yeah. 8D  
CheLeapofFaith: LOL, it's supposed to. It depresses me, too ;_; Also, no death you say? Why, that's impossible! teehee.  
Ginger Katt: AND a British-fetish. Hurr hurr.**

**And thanks to:  
-CheLeapofFaith, for adding this story to their favourites and their alert.**

**Ummmmm so yeah. Have fun with the cliffhanger on this one.**

**Also, another stupid thing, I watched this video with Lucy's truck in it, and of course the freaking hood is flat. What kind of truck has a flat hood? Just ignore that, too ._.**

* * *

_And then the screaming, oh the screaming  
It's nice to see you scared_  
-**Blue October**'s The End

* * *

"We can't just _leave _it here!"

"Think about it, Lucy!" Desmond pressed, stepping closer. "We go find a repairman, and we take him back here. To what? Dead bodies? Blood? Strange equipment in the back? It just can't be done."

Lucy sighed deeply. "I am _so _fired."

* * *

"This is great. Really great," Lucy half-shouted sarcastically as they walked. "I lost my truck, all my equipment, and you brought the fucking first-aid kit. Oh, and of course you needed to jump back on the roof to get your shirt! You probably broke your fucking hand again, and don't think I'm resetting the bones this time."

Desmond tuned her out - she was just venting - and clutched the first-aid kit to his chest. He hadn't put his sling back on, so he carried his shirt with him, folded over his right arm.

He found himself glancing over his shoulder every few seconds. There were no streetlights on this road, so it was nearly pitch-black, the only light coming from the almost-full moon. The only sounds were their footsteps - Lucy had fallen silent - and yet Desmond thought the sound of his feet kicking through the dirt were the sound of someone else's.

Almost no cars passed them. It was odd; although this wasn't exactly a main road - Lucy had taken a less-travelled route - there still should've been at least a few other vehicles on the road.

The other thing that freaked him out were the mountains. This particular road snaked through the outskirts of the Swiss Alps, and there were peaks all around them, dotted with trees. He would've preferred a flat landscape, where it was easy to see anything coming.

They kept walking for a few more minutes in total silence, then Lucy muttered, "I'm sorry."

Desmond, not sure he had heard her right, did a double take. "What?"

"I'm sorry," she repeated, looking at him now. It was hard to tell in the dark, but she appeared to be looking at him with apologetic eyes.

"You haven't done anything." Desmond smiled reassuringly, trying to make her feel better.

Lucy sighed forlornly and stared away from him, toward the moon. "Not yet," she breathed.

"What're you—" Before the words could come out of his mouth, Lucy took off running, away from the road. She had the flashlight.

"Shit!" Desmond hissed, then called after her. "Lucy, wait! where are you going?"

"Away," was all he heard.

Gritting his teeth, Desmond dropped the first-aid kid and followed, trailing after the beam of light that projected from the flashlight. Ignoring his leg, he ran in a full sprint after her, but no matter how fast he went, Lucy was always out of his reach.

Eventually, they reached a small group of trees, into which Lucy slipped. Despite every cell of his body telling him not to, Desmond followed to a point where he could barely see two feet in front of him, let alone Lucy.

"Fuck, fuck, fuck." Desmond muttered, then stopped and spun around, looking in every direction. "Lucy?" he called, feeling himself beginning to panic. Every rustle of leaves, every small noise, sent him reeling, until his back bumped into a trunk. He slid down the tree until he was sitting on the damp ground. He could feel his breathing speeding up.

By instinct, he turned on Eagle Vision, needing to see _something_. He regretted it.

There was a red figure a few trees away, just standing there. Desmond nearly had a heart attack when he saw it, and the bright beam of light emanating from it was just too much.

He turned off Eagle Vision to find a flashlight being shone in his face. Lucy walked closer, still gripping it.

"What.. what are you _doing_?" Desmond gasped, squinting his eyes against the harsh light. The brightness of it made it hard to see Lucy's expression, but she walked toward him slowly, feet barely making a sound on the dense layer of pine needles.

"I'm sorry," was all she said, then it was if it was day again. Hundreds of lights materialized from the darkness, practically blinding both humans. Lucy hissed, almost as if she wasn't expecting this, then closed her eyes. Desmond, feeling his eyes starting to burn, followed suit. A harsh redness still shone through his eyelids.

"**She has helped us,**" all of the lights said at once, hurting his ears.

"_What_?" Desmond demanded, convinced it was lying, that this was just another scare tactic.

"It's true," came the quiet confession of Lucy.

"They're. Trying. To. _Kill_. You!" Desmond screamed desperately, incredulous how Lucy could even consider helping the lights. "I told you myself!"

"**He lies,**" the lights hissed. "**_He's_ the one that's trying to kill you.**"

_Let it all burn,  
I will burn first_

Desmond was trying to convince himself that this was another dream, another hallucination, _anything_ that meant Lucy hadn't betrayed him. And yet, squeezing an eye open, he saw tears - _real _tears - glistening on her cheeks, out of tightly shut eyelids.

"Oh, Lucy," Desmond said softly, closing his eyes again. "Why?"

"I said I was fucking _sorry_!" Lucy's rage exploded just a few feet away from him. "Why is that never good enough for you?"

"Sorry for _what_?" Desmond demanded, his frustration rising. "Making your own choices? Doing this to us? To _me_?"

"**Yes, yes**," the lights whispered softly. "**Make her angry, Desmond**."

Desmond growled at them, like an animal. "Go the fuck _away_!" he screamed in their direction, which was everywhere anyway.

The harsh glow dimmed significantly. Desmond didn't open his eyes, knowing anything could happen.

"They're gone," Lucy said, sounding somewhat surprised. Alarm resounded in his brain.

"No, wait Lucy!" he cried. "Close your—"

A near-blinding flash, even from behind his lids, erupted suddenly. Lucy screamed deafeningly, and he heard her thrashing around in the leaves. Then, suddenly, it was dark again. But nowhere near silent.

"My eyes! My fucking eyes!" Lucy howled. Desmond, hesitantly at first, opened his own, ready to snap them shut at a moment's notice.

Lucy was clutching her face, rolling madly on the ground, the flashlight long abandoned beside her. And the screaming, oh the screaming.

_God I've tried, am I lost in your eyes?_

"Lucy!" Desmond scrambled on his knees toward her, holding down as much of her as he could with one hand. She was screaming her lungs off, desperately rubbing at her eyes.

"Just try to calm down," Desmond urged, knowing she'd do no good panicking. He looked around and quickly picked up the flashlight with his right hand, directing the beam at her.

In one fluid motion, Lucy was on her back and her hands were at his throat. She stretched her eyes wide. Their pupils had completely disappeared, leaving twin blue pools lined with blood and tears.

"They fucking blinded me!" she cried. "_You _blinded me!" Her hands tightened.

"Stop!" Desmond choked desperately, trying to push her away. But her years of training, in contrast to his month, left him at a huge disadvantage. The flashlight slipped out of his hand and hit the ground once again, throwing shadows everywhere.

"**Fight back,**" the lights encouraged him softly, inside his head.

"That's what you want, isn't it?" Desmond barely managed the words; his windpipe was almost fully cut off.

"**Fight BACK!**" they cried at him, sounding desperate as his vision started to blur.

_No._ He closed his eyes.

* * *

**WHUT. Who saw that coming? ...no one I hope.**


	21. XXI

**ultimateform14: You know what I can see happening in _Revelations_? Desmond getting himself out of that machine, and then POOF. Gotta wait for ACIII. I just want to know if she's alive or not ;_; And what the hell happened to Shaun and Rebecca?  
Ginger Katt: Maybe they could go on a... -shades- blind date. YYYYEEEEEEAAAAAAAAHHHHHHH-**

**Just one more thing: Those lyrics down there, by Victims of Science, should be Lucy's POV. Use your imagination.**

* * *

_Was it worth it?  
The only thing you've managed to break so far is my heart  
This isn't brave, it's murder!  
What did I ever do to you?  
You don't even care, do you?  
_-**Victims of Science**'s The Device Has Been Modified

* * *

Desmond kept his eyes closed, ignoring the world around him. His primeval instinct to survive had dissipated long ago, so he stayed content in the darkness, blocking out Lucy's screams, the lights' anguished cries as they pleaded with him to survive. He hadn't drawn a breath for over a minute now, and he knew the end would come soon.

All of a sudden, he was jolted back to Earth. He opened his eyes and Lucy was sailing away from him—or, rather, he was sailing away from Lucy. His back hit against a tree trunk with a jarring force, knocking what little air he had left out of his lungs.

Lucy, finding her hands empty, sat up, or at least he thought she did—he could just barely see her outline against the light from the flashlight. Deciding he did want to live, Desmond activated Eagle Vision and held it, watching the red figure stand unsteadily.

"Where did you go?" Lucy demanded hoarsely, stretching out her hands. It made Desmond's heart ache to watch her stumble around awkwardly, unable to see.

"Desmond..." she called softly. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean it. Desmond, come back to me."

He froze as she came nearer, fighting the urge to draw in heaves of air. The red glow she gave off was astounding.

"Look at what you did to me," Lucy said sadly. "You took away my eyes." She groped empty air with her hands. "I did everything for you, and all you did was hurt me.

"But I forgive you. Remember, remember that time, when we were innocent? Remember on the roof?"

Desmond drew in an involuntary breath. Luckily, Lucy was still talking and didn't hear him.

"I remember. Do you remember? Do you remember how good it felt?"

He _did_ remember. Desmond nearly sobbed when he thought about how messed up their lives had become since that night. Two friends died, he _almost _died, he'd killed four people, and now here Lucy was, blind and so desperate to kill him. And it was all because of those fucking lights.

How long would he have to sit there before Lucy stopped searching? Until one of them simply collapsed of exhaustion? Or until she found him? Whichever came first.

"You have six senses, Desmond. I only have four now, because of you. You don't deserve that extra one. You should lend it to me, because I know you're using it now. I know you can see me. I see nothing. You see in the dark. I will never see the sun again. Does that seem fair to you?" she asked, sounding so incredibly sad.

"I didn't want to hurt you," Desmond said quietly. "I tried so hard."

Lucy's head snapped around and she began moving slowly in his direction. "Not hard enough."

"I don't.. _want _to hurt you," Desmond half-warned as she got closer.

Lucy barked out a sharp, sarcastic laugh. "Hurt me? I don't have any fucking _eyes_! What more could you _possibly _do to me?"

As she approached, Desmond stood and moved carefully around the base of the tree trunk, until he was as far away as possible, on the other side of the tree. He breathed out slowly.

Lucy had reached the base of his tree and laid her hands on it. "You're here somewhere, I know you are." She began unknowingly tracing his steps around the trunk, which was so thick they could've barely touched hands from either side.

Desmond, trying not to cry, moved the same way Lucy was, so she would never catch him. What he didn't see coming, however, was her sudden change in direction. As he rounded the trunk yet again, he nearly ran into her as she walked. He stopped in his tracks and she followed suit, coming to a halt mere inches from his face.

"I hear your heartbeat," Lucy whispered. She raised a hand and placed it on his chest. "I feel it." Desmond, dumbfounded, didn't move. The hand formed into a fist and slammed his jaw from below, sending him to the ground.

Desmond hit the dirt hard, landing on his back. Lucy was on him before he could recover. Her red glow made it hard to tell what her face looked like, but her blue eyes stood out like never before, full of rage.

"You..." she hissed. "All I've done is sacrifice for you! So you blind me!"

"It wasn't _me_—!"

"Shut the _fuck_ up!" she screamed in his face. "You take the blame from this! _You_! For once, realize what you've done!"

Desmond lay there, shocked and saddened. The Lucy he knew, the Lucy he'd known, was long gone now, replaced by this insane demon. There was a wild look in her eyes, all the kindness and caring he'd loved gone.

"No... no, no, _no_!" Desmond growled. "It's _not _happening like this!" He heaved, and rolled over so Lucy was pinned under him. Not concentrating, he turned off Eagle Vision and found he could see her face; they'd rolled into a patch of moonlight. She still looked fiercely determined, struggling under his weight.

Desmond considered just running away while he had the chance, running far from Lucy and the lights. There was no way she could follow him even ten feet. She'd wander around the woods, and eventually would starve to death or get eaten or, if she somehow found the road, get hit by a car. He knew he couldn't, though, knew he would never be able to leave knowing he would be the cause of Lucy's death, knowing he'd left her behind to die.

Lucy got one of her arms free. "You don't deserve the eyes you have!" she shrieked, jabbing at his face. Somehow, she hit her mark, and one of her nails sunk into his right eye.

Desmond screamed, feeling fresh blood pouring down his face. His eye was hurting, hurting so bad he wanted to rip it out just to stop the pain. He rolled off Lucy and hit the ground, rubbing desperately at his eye.

She was on him again, leaning close. "How does it feel?" she asked mockingly over his screams. "Not so great now, huh?"

"You fucking _bitch_!" Desmond howled, all empathy for Lucy gone. He shot out his left hand and clutched at her throat, holding her off of him at arms length.

"How does it feel?" she laughed throatily around his hand. "Revenge?"

"You stuck your nail in my fucking _eye_!" Desmond tightened his fingers.

"Cross my heart and hope to die, stick a needle in my eye!" Lucy cried, laughing. "It makes sense, doesn't it?"

Desmond kept squeezing until she was unable to talk, the only sounds she was capable of being strangled choking. She did manage one more word.

"Sorry..."

His hand jumped away from her neck as if electrocuted. When the pressure was released, Lucy collapsed on top of him, sucking in air and coughing. Her hands were on his arms, her head on her chest.

"**NO!**" the lights roared, bouncing, enraged, around his head. Desmond winced and closed his eyes against the pounding in his brain.

Dozens of lights jumped into the air around him. Desmond opened his left eye to see them whirling angrily above his head. Lucy, unable to see them, still gasped on his chest.

"Lucy," Desmond whispered. "We need to leave. _Now_."

She just laughed, softly. "I tried to kill you, and I just punched you and poked out your eye. Yet you're still trying to save me."

"I couldn't stand to be to blame if something ever happened to you."

"Something already happened," she breathed, her head to the side.

"**And for a good reason,**" the lights put in harshly.

"They're back?" she moaned. "Just go away!"

"**He nearly killed you. You're blind. And you're not going to do anything about it?**"

"Not this again," Desmond muttered. To his surprise, Lucy leapt to her feet, pushing herself off of him.

"Get away from me!" she screamed, waving her hands around madly, as if to swat the lights away. Desmond propped himself up on his elbows, still too shocked to stand. He watched, dumbfounded, as Lucy swung her arms around madly, screaming bloody murder, until her foot caught on a tree root and she fell to her hands and knees. Upon seeing this, Desmond scrambled over to her, reaching out to grab her arm.

"Stop," she moaned, sobbing. "Just... stop."

His hand halted, wavering uncertainly in the space between them, then Desmond drew it back slowly.

"Lucy...?" he ventured.

Her shoulders hunched, Lucy turned her head to look at him. With the lights still in the air, he could see her face now, streaked with tears, dirt, and blood. He doubted he looked much better; his eye was now swollen shut, blood still pumping out, and he could feel a cut on his chin from where she'd hit him. But at least he could see.

"Just do it," she whispered, sadness in her eyes. "Make them go away."

"Don't say that." Desmond tried to sound firm. "We can get to that city, get to Paris..."

"And then what?" she demanded. "We get on your plane and fly to God-knows-where? And they just... go away?" She shook her head. "I don't think so."

"But—"

"Do it or I will." Lucy stared at him, her eyes so determined it tore him in two. He looked down, at the blade just waiting in its shaft, so impatient to taste her blood. Then he looked at his right hand, at the white-and-silver of his bandage-and-duct tape makeshift cast, Lucy's work and care evident in the fact that it was still intact. Any other cast with the same materials would've fallen apart by now with the same activities.

"No," he said firmly. "I won't do it. Not me."

Lucy nodded and stood. "Then I guess I'm leaving."

_Wait,_ Desmond's brain cried as he sat there while she turned around. _There's so much I want to say.._

And apparently he'd get to say it. As Lucy reached the edge of the clearing, she stopped in her tracks, barely moving except for her breathing.

"What...? I can't move!"

The lights swirled angrily above their heads. "**You're not going anywhere.**" They flung Lucy back towards Desmond, where she landed hard on her back. "**_No one_ is going anywhere until one of you dies. We have waited FAR too long!**" The last part was cried shrilly, anger in every decibel.

"Fine!" Lucy shouted back. "Fuck this, I'm not staying here," she growled, moving into a crouching position. "Come out, come out, wherever you are."

Desmond froze, astonished by how willing she was to kill him, just so she could wander away into the woods. He scarcely dared to breathe, knowing that she was a trained Assassin, a trained _killer_, that she could probably even hear him thinking.

Lucy just crouched like a cat, waiting for her prey. Desmond was in a particularly awkward position and knew he'd have to move eventually. The lights floated above his head, giving him light to work by, light with which to kill.

"Lucy, can't we talk about this?" Desmond asked desperately, standing slowly. The blonde's head whipped around and locked on to him, not even an inch off.

"You're blind. I have a weapon. What chance to you have?"

She said nothing, a blank expression on her face.

"Think about it!" he pleaded. "This is what they _want_. They _want _you to attack me, so I can kill you!"

Lucy's fingers kneaded into the ground, churning up pine needles and earth. She looked like she was thinking.

"You're right," she admitted. Desmond's heart soared, thinking she was listening to him, that no one had to die.

"**She's not listening to you,**" a light in his head whispered. "**She's listening to _us_.**"

"No!" Desmond cried. Lucy sprang towards him, hands outstretched to grab his neck.

* * *

**And the whole "stick a needle in your eye" thing is from Dead Space 2, and even some of Lucy's behaviour. If you notice, Desmond was stabbed in his right eye, same as Isaac :3**

**Soooooo there's probably only going to be a couple more chapters. -hides-**


	22. XXII

**ultimateform44: Have you really? O_o I didn't know my story could impact someone so much...  
****Ginger Katt: Ugh, Dead Space 2 freaked me out, especially Nicole. She looked kind of like Lucy though o3o**

**And, as always, thank you to:**  
-**Darkzz009****, for adding this story to their favourites****  
-Bunsididly the Pant, for adding this story to their** **alert**  
-**ThePenNameNotTaken, for adding this story to their alert  
-and The Master Assassin, for adding this story to their favourites **

* * *

_I saw your blue eyes cry and I held your face in my hands  
__And then I fell down yelling, "Make it go away!"  
__"Just make her smile come back and shine like it used to be!"  
__Then she whispered, "How could you do this to me?"_

_Hate me today  
Hate me tomorrow  
Hate me for all the things I didn't do for you  
Hate me in ways hard to swallow  
__Hate me so you can finally see what's good for you  
_-**Blue ****October**'s Hate Me

* * *

A split second later and Lucy was on the ground; Desmond had leapt to the side, out of her way. Lucy hadn't seen the ground coming and hit it face-first, landing then rolling twice. She didn't move. Her head had bent at an odd angle as she had rolled; Desmond feared she'd broken her neck.

"Lucy...?" He approached cautiously, unsure of what was going to happen.

Desmond crouched next to her, reaching out his left hand. Her eyes were still closed.

In an instant, she was up and on top of him.

"_No one _is trapping me anywhere!" she screamed. Suddenly, the colour drained from her face and her angry expression evaporated, replaced by one of shock.

Desmond withdrew his left hand from her stomach. It had been pure reflex and instinct, his instinct to survive. Her blood coated his blade.

Lucy brought a hand to her stomach, feeling the wet blood, her life draining out. She fell sideways, off of him, landing on her side in the dirt.

"You did it," she managed weakly.

"**Yes, you did.**." He could hear the lights' congratulatory tone.

Desmond sat up and moved beside her, on his knees, staring. "Oh, no..." he whispered, seeing the red on Lucy's white shirt, on the ground, on his hands. Memories of Cristina, of the pain Ezio felt watching his love die, coursed through his heart. This time, though, it wasn't the fault of thieves, but _his _own fault. No one else's.

He didn't know what to do. Lucy had always been the one in charge, the one with the plan of action. Desmond remembered the first-aid kit he'd dropped by the side of the road, and wished with all his heart he still had it. Somehow he doubted it would do any good, however; his blade had sunk in up to the hilt, piercing Lucy's stomach. In a few minutes it would break open, spilling bile inside of her, dissolving her from the inside out.

Trying not the think about it, Desmond decided he would comfort her. He lay down beside her, front to front, so her forehead was nearly touching his.

"I didn't want it to happen like this," Desmond half-sobbed. "You don't deserve this."

"It was the only thing you could do," came the soft reply.

"Oh God, I don't think I'm ready," Lucy whispered, staring into his eyes but not knowing it. She winced and grabbed at her midsection. "It hurts," she gasped, eyes stretched wide.

Desmond said nothing, only held her firmer, as if holding her would just keep her there forever.

"I'm so sorry. For everything. _All _of this is my fault. We could've just sat there in the Sanctuary, all of us, if I had just stayed in the Animus."

"**She is slipping away,**" the lights said gleefully, swooping in closer, like vultures to a carcass.

Desmond pressed his forehead to Lucy's, who was beginning to grow cold, dullness in her eyes. He squeezed his eye shut, feeling hot tears welling up behind his eyelids. He sobbed once, twice, feeling utterly defeated. There was nothing he could do.

"How could you do this to me?" Lucy whispered, pain evident in every syllable. "It hurts," she moaned again.

_Just let me burn  
It's what I deserve_

"I don't want it," she sobbed, crying out once in agony. Yet she never pushed him away; she actually got closer, needing comfort.

He could feel the lights' joy radiating through every cell in his body, and fought against them so he wouldn't start to feel the same.

Lucy's body tensed. "Oh God," she panted again. He see her jaw clench against more pain, her breath coming in short bursts. She stared straight ahead, face contorted in agony. Blood was beginning to stain her teeth.

And all Desmond could do was stare. There was _nothing_he could do, not even attempt to comfort her.

She lay there, blood spilling out of her mouth. Lucy coughed once, sending blood and bile onto Desmond's face.

"Lucy... I'm sorry..." He attempted to apologize again, but words weren't good enough—they'd _never _be good enough. So the Assassin, after a brief hesitation, moved his head closer and pressed his lips to Lucy's, feeling no response whatsoever. Alarmed, Desmond pulled his head back, tasting blood.

Lucy's eyes were closed, and she didn't move. Tentatively, Desmond touched her cheek. No response.

It hit him like a punch to the gut. Lucy was gone. His only anchor since this whole crazy thing started had turned to dust, leaving him with nothing to hold on to. What would he do?

He stared, not moving for a couple seconds, then tears started flowing out of his good eye. He made no move to stop them, only watched as the face in front of him began to blur.

"**Come, Desmond,**" the lights urged. "**Today is the seventy-second day before the moment of awakening. You _must_ awaken the sixth.**"

"Fuck you," Desmond growled. He was going _no where_.

The clearing became bathed in a red glow—the lights above him pulsed red angrily. "**NO.**"

He felt himself being lifted away from her, away from his anchor. "No!" he gasped, reaching out to her. She was just out of his grasp.

The lights set him down on his feet, about a metre away from Lucy. As soon as he was able to move, Desmond fell to the ground and clung to Lucy again. "I'm _not_leaving her here!" he cried.

The red grew brighter, more intense, and he could feel the lights' anger overflowing. "**Fine!**" they screamed. "**See how you like this!**"

He was being taken away from her again, except this time the lights didn't put him down. He kept rising, through the leaves, the trees' branches whipping and cutting him. The lights rose with him until he was roughly fifty feet in the air. Looking down, Desmond felt a rushing in his stomach.

"**How about now?**" the lights asked harshly. He didn't answer, only stared wide-eyed downward.

Without warning, he was rushing back to earth, the wind battering at his skin. He fell through the branches like a rag doll, hurting too much to try to stop himself.

Desmond burst through the lower branches and... stopped, inches from the ground. The lights were next to him; they'd stopped him from falling.

He was gasping, eye wide, terror clawing at his heart, but looked to his left and saw Lucy again. He reached out and tried to touch her, to pull her closer.

With an unceremonious _thump_, Desmond hit the dirt on his stomach, then immediately scrambled back to Lucy. He nestled back beside her, staring hard at her face.

* * *

**Yep. She's dead. Don't freak out too much though; from pretty much the moment I introduced the lights, I knew Lucy was going to die. It was inevitable -shrug-**

**Also: if you noticed, it just _happens_ to be October tenth. Coincidence? **


	23. XXIII

**ultimateform14: :'( indeed. D:  
Ginger Katt: ...I cried. _Revelations_ was so... I can't even describe it.  
Darkz009: That's how they get people to play... Those huge spoilers at the end of games. It usually ends with characters' deaths, though :(**

**And thanks to:  
-Kaslyna, for adding this story to their favourites  
-HeartBound101, for adding this story to their alert and their favourites  
****-and GDMcat, for adding this story to their alert **

**I finished _Revelations_ about an hour ago. I'm just in such an odd mood right now because of it... **

**Anyway, enjoy.**

* * *

_Now that it's over, I just want to hold her  
__I've got to live with the choices I made, but I can't live with myself today  
Hey Lucy, I remember your name  
_-**Skillet**'s Lucy

* * *

When Desmond awoke, he slowly opened his eyes, then gasped sharply when he felt the pain radiating from his right eye. This shock woke him up completely, and, opening his left eye, he stared at Lucy's blank face for a few seconds, registering. By now, patches of her skin were a purplish-blue colour, and her body was totally stiff. Desmond turned his head toward the sky to find the sun blinding his good eye. There were no lights in sight.

_God I've lied, am I lost in your eyes?_

He looked at Lucy, who could almost be sleeping if it weren't for her discoloured skin. The urge to urinate coursed through his body, but he didn't want to get up. What if he turned his back and she'd be gone?

Half-sighing and half-moaning, Desmond reluctantly sat up, wincing at his sore back, then stood, stretching. He looked down at Lucy's still form, curled in on itself, then blinked and wandered to the nearest tree to relieve himself.

As Desmond redid his jeans, completely numb to the pain in his hand, he became aware of a yawning pit in his stomach. He was _hungry_, very hungry. He hadn't eaten since he and Lucy left the Sanctuary, the day before. Slowly, he turned back towards the body in the centre of the clearing, heartbroken by the stillness of her.

"I won't leave you," he assured her, moving to sit, cross-legged, by her head. She still lay on her side, hands curved toward her stomach, as if she still felt the pain from her wound.

For the first time in a week, it was quiet. The lights were gone from his head, leaving it surprisingly empty. There were no voices whispering in his ear, no white-hot anger and impatience scalding his brain.

The silence was interrupted by a loud moan of protest from Desmond's stomach. Feed me, it was saying. Feed me _now_.

"What am I going to do?" the Assassin muttered. He didn't want to leave her here, alone. He stood and paced for a little, stealing quick glances at Lucy as he debated. After everything that had happened, the _last _thing he wanted to do was follow the lights' orders.

All of a sudden, the sun turned a harsh yellow-orange colour, bathing the clearing in a fiery light. Desmond whipped around and Lucy was gone. He started for a couple seconds, panic rising in his chest, then turned to the left.

Lucy was standing two feet in front of him, her skin discoloured and coated in blood.

"Who am I?" she asked softly, looking straight into his eyes. Desmond just stared, unable to answer.

"Am I your friend?" she wondered, her voice growing harsher on the last word. Before he could react, she darted forward and grabbed his neck, lifting him into the air, holding up by only one hand—the hand that was clutching his throat.

"Or am I your lover?" she screamed, lips no longer moving; her mouth and eyes were wide open, harsh white light flowing out of them. Lucy pushed forward and slammed his back against a trunk, causing him to cry out sharply. "The one shred, one light, one bright, shining star you cling to in this universe? Or am I your _guilt_? Crushing the life out of you because you can't get over the fact that I'm _dead_! That _you _feel responsible? Who... Am... I?" she howled, whirling around and crushing him into a different tree. "Why do you keep fighting me? Why can't you let go?"

Through gritted teeth, and keeping his eye fixed upward, Desmond choked out, "Because you were my everything... And if I let you go, I've got nothing left."

After a few silent seconds, the pressure on his neck was released, and Desmond fell to the ground, gasping and coughing.

"I'm scared, Desmond." Her voice floated through his left ear, and he realized she was kneeling beside him now. "I don't want to die. But it's the only way out."

Her face was back to normal again. She stared at him intensely, waiting for an answer. He looked back at her for a few seconds. "You're not Lucy," he whispered. "Lucy's dead."

The woman next to him smiled sadly, warmth in her eyes. "Yes she is."

Colours returned to normal; a few flashes later and the blonde in front of him vanished. Slowly, Desmond sat up and turned his head; she was lying in the centre of the clearing, body bathed in sunlight. He stared for a while, suddenly reminded of the throbbing pain in his right eye. Gingerly, he brought his left hand up to his face. Searing pain erupted from contact, and he pulled his hand away. Alarmed, he stared at the yellow-and-white liquid that now coated his fingertip. He felt his cheek. It too was wet, and not from tears. He needed a doctor.

"I'm sorry," he breathed, but didn't move. He knew he needed to get up, to leave, to find some food and a hospital. But he couldn't bring himself to.

"You're dead, you're dead, you're _dead_," he muttered, then took a deep breath and stood. That was as far as he got; he simply _could not _leave. Anxiously, he paced the clearing again.

"Why can't I let you go?" Desmond moaned, repeating Lucy's earlier words and realizing they were right. It was registering in his mind that she was dead, and he believed it, _knew_ it, but he could _not _leave. He wasn't about to let her down. She wouldn't give up on him, and never did, so he wouldn't give up on her.

"**You are honestly _unbelievable_,**" a light hissed from behind him. Desmond could hear the malice in its voice; they were getting fed up.

_This hate that you gave me keeps saying_

Desmond said nothing, only stared hard at a tree trunk in front of him, trying to burn it with his gaze.

"**We are going no where.**" The light swept in front of him. Desmond glanced up and gasped softly; instead of an actual light, it was an anti-light, black. It didn't suck any light away, like a black hole would, only hovered in front of him, blocking out whatever would be behind it; it looked like a ball of floating coal, about a foot across.

"What are you supposed to be?" Desmond taunted, knowing he probably shouldn't but not caring. "A burned-out lightbulb?"

"**I may not be capable of producing light, but I can do other things.**" As if to demonstrate, it reeled backwards and slammed into a tree like a cannonball, bending the trunk easily. The loud _crack _of splitting wood accompanied the display.

"**Try as you might, you cannot avoid your destiny,**" the light - if one could call it that - reminded him as it finished beating on the tree. "**We will do whatever it takes to see that it is fulfilled.**"

Desmond choked out a laugh. "What are you going to do? _Threaten _me to death? I don't have to do _anything _you tell me to! You don't have any leverage!"

"**Oh, don't we?**" the anti-light wondered mockingly, moving so it was floating above Lucy's body. Desmond followed it with his eye, unsure of what was about to happen.

"**What about if we take away your anchor? Where will you float to?**" With these words, the light dropped like a rock inches away from Lucy's head, shaking the ground slightly and causing a depression in the earth.

Desmond stared at the light, sizing it up. "You wouldn't," he growled.

A short laugh was barked out, then the anti-light heaved itself off the ground. Without hesitation, it dropped itself on Lucy's left arm. Since she was lying on her right side, her forearm snapped, leaving it at an odd angle, shards of bone jutting out. No blood.

Desmond gritted his teeth, feeling tears welling up. He couldn't bear to see her treated like this, but he mustn't do what the lights wanted him to. She was _dead_.

The black light raised itself up again. "**Not enough?**" it asked. When no response was given, it rose up again, higher this time, and fell onto Lucy's thighs. Since femurs are so thick, there was a small _crack_, but no bones broke. Not satisfied with this, the light brought itself down again and again, until her upper legs were nothing more than a pulverized, bloodied pulp, with white from the bones jutting through.

The sickening crunches made Desmond want to throw up. He did dry heave a few times, but there was nothing in his stomach to expel.

"**What would it take?**" the light demanded once it was finished, hovering a few feet above Lucy's head. "**Try and stop me!**"

_Just let me burn_

Desmond covered his face with his hands, jostling both his eye and fingers but not caring, moaning softly.

"**How about this then?**" the light screamed. Desmond glanced up and regretted it as he watched it drop down on Lucy's stomach. It burst open easily - it was already bloated due to decomposition - and spilled guts all over the forest floor. The stench hit Desmond in the face like a sledgehammer, instinctively causing him to gag and slap his left hand over his nose.

"Stop... it," he gasped. Lucy's body was being defiled.

"**_Make me_,**" the light hissed at him, "**or her head is next.**"

Desmond didn't answer, only stared at the ground, trying to decide what he wanted more—being free or keeping Lucy intact.

"**Fine.**" It was interpreting his silence as a go ahead to do whatever it wanted. Desmond glanced up sharply—just in time to see Lucy's face once more before the anti-light slammed down on her upturned ear, and her head caved with a loud splintering noise.

_No... _His knees unable to support him, Desmond crumpled, just barely catching himself with his hands. Their palms slammed hard into the ground. Ignoring the pain, Desmond looked up and regretted it.

_Just let me burn_

Lucy's face was completely gone, covered in blood and brains and crushed under its bones. Her head wasn't flattened, it practically _exploded_; there were bits of bone as far away as two feet from the actual impact. There wasn't a depression in her skull, however: it was like crushing a watermelon with a sledgehammer. Everything went everywhere.

"**Enough?**" the light shrieked shrilly, hurting his ears. It rose up higher; it was going to hit her again.

"No!" Desmond scrambled to his feet and threw himself towards Lucy's body, attempting to move it out of the way. He cleared the three feet easily, but what happened next wasn't so easy.

There was a sickening crunch, and a split second later Desmond midsection exploded in agony. He had somehow ended up on top of Lucy's head, and the basketball-sized light slammed itself down accidentally onto him.

Desmond rolled sideways with his arms involuntarily; he was off of Lucy's body, but his problems were far from over. He was in so much pain he couldn't breathe. The light had come down on his lower back, directly on top of his spine; he had no feeling in his legs.

His vision blurring, Desmond could barely make out the shapes of hundreds of lights floating in the air above, buzzing around him. He knew he was dying; they were so red they were about to burst, and he could just make out their cries of anger and despair.

Gingerly, he brought his left hand down to his side, and was rewarded with another intense burst of pain. Needing to know what had happened to him, and since touch was out, Desmond slowly raised his head up. He stared, totally in shock.

His entire stomach was split open from left to right, organs and part of his spine sticking out. Intestines, bile, and, mostly, blood, leaked out on both sides. Feeling himself start to hyperventilate, Desmond let his head thud back to the ground, probably for the last time. He coughed, tasted blood. Every breath was a struggle.

His eyes slid closed, and he let himself go, away from the pain.

_You are finally free._

**-_fin_-**

* * *

**Well, that's it. After eight and a half months, Paradise Lost is finished. Thank you _so much_ to anyone and everyone who ever reviewed this story, or added it to their favourites or alert. You guys are what kept me going.**

**Also: I used some Dead Space quotes up there. And the orange flashing is from Dead Space 2 as well :3**


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